a, ~~, a a, 77 o-

eRe PANETTA TR OOO TARR PON NIA AN RON TN SLR R DNS MONS Ne AAS

5 iene

PPIFS AP ARAN RHE

TUN,

STOSOT ESS KARR RRR S
gt a a aaa a PPE AEA AAP, PARAS
cone PPP PL PRI LAI LAAS Pw la wy ee
LORD LL PP BLD DDI RAPALA PPPRREREIR ELE AS
PPP IP DDLD DALAL SL PILLAI RPA PRAAARAAAAAA PW Wr vn
ERPS. LPP P PPAF DLAI LL LAIP II LAA ALAA ATAAEASRA A MOAT ASAT A ATATATAOCKS
vd POP PPDPLDMDPL LADS PPL PAA a ITAA ARAN A RA NAAS APAPACACA
ata TL Le a ae ad PPP LP BEALS
EPA PPP PPD DPL PLD LIL LL IL ILIA
We PLPLP IIL LI IPL PPL ALE

ARAL aa AAT A
as atar KRAUSS ATA PAA AY ATATAT AEA ae
APA ERA AA OADRTATA DAD ADADATATATACATATA

PLD LA PPP A PLDL LILA we ee
Eh! as SoS PPDPDLALPPPE AAPA PAL UO AAA ATA A ATAU AOACATAL AOA 2 a 4%
ae, LPP DP LDP DLL PPL LL IP ILPS \ dei ONTO ATATAANDAR NCAA AAT ARTA ATAT A ts VE a CE
AA SSS SG IGS FOI LI II DPA ASAE ATADINT ATAU ATA ADATADAY AUR RCACRTADING AAS, ONT ARGS TEUA
TAY DDI LDP DRIP DL IPP LPP PIPPI EAA AAA AOA GATATA AGRA AAA AACA Wome ACRES
SS SIGS II an, a ar ee eed ORATOR RATA A NAACATAA A ARPA NRA
PRISE PDIP I PRAS PLL LLP LNA AMS Tete SAAT 7 PAA STAMATAUATASATAT ACA AU ATA AAA RDA AL eld
= SPL A LEAP PLL SPL LPILPL LLM ,. ew ¢ SAT ATATARTATATACATATAT ATAUAATAUATATAUATACATAT: | RNR S
EPPA PID PIP PLLA PPPRPDPDIDE PBA NE, Aa ARE RAMARA A NAR AR AAR SASS Waray
LR MAAS PPL PPAALARA PELE 7 et wy Fe ARE ATATATA TAUASATATAT WATATATACATATACATALAL AT SATAY
AIS. PPPLLPI PILI P ILL I LID A rs Spagavay ADA ATA ATACATATAY ATATATATAY ATA Fay
5 MS POPPI LL LPL LLLP LLP PRA LD I AA : REATATATATAUADATAVACAUAL A AACA AY AAG \
FPP PP Ke LPLP LI PPL PLA PPL PII atest WA RUA nA at AAT AP ALAS OA AAA AT ATA AAU ATA, al ATT ASS vi
A PP PPI ALI L API IAL PRP PRAY vata AANA AA AACA AT ACATAUN NAL AY NACACAT NATAL AL BUNT AY ‘
SAAT AA AMALIA AA FOO OO AAT eA AAT at AR ATA AA eT ara ACN ACAT ALA fA)
AA AAA AP AAPL AS PEP AITAE OT AA LA ALA TAA ARAN ~ ~~ .
LPP LIS ; PAA A AAALA ve Ca AAA we sn AT ATAT AAC ACACAA yn ~
LP PP PAP LDAP LAASS PR PAS ¥ _ a | s" ATATACATAT ATA A ATA. ACA MATATATATACAL
FLA SL IA ALL LALLA re ee or . CA : a ATATA ee ee WATATATADACACALAL ~
TAA AAA AA AAS ry a aA AOA AAA ATATASA Tar ATA AACA at al” Nw VE ;
RP AAA ADA AAA AAL ASE <" . : Au rhe ee ae ar aT A <
. ’ 7 le . ‘ 4 » 4 % 4 ~~ ACA ta:
a7 ie a sew . e eateesal
nA AA ‘i ‘ =4 ‘ae’ *~ ee . . Fa i tel tein Wt de sili “ae * ies :
es J +. . « / \
‘ ‘ Me a aed
ie - - - om % .
al » r of . PE IN Ta EE LE EE YT OMY Slee Te ©
cs ath. ‘he, ee ee, ae te are Sins? Wa Men Satn2 ia Sn fms OS Sons i me nai, Be

mA ANS

Lent ae Ta Ber nc emcee ewesns jeresen lala pe is
i a aa S

Cornell Aniversity Library

BOUGHT WITH THE INCOME
FROM THE

SAGE ENDOWMENT FUND

THE GIFT OF

Henry W. Sage

1891

BR tOwle A i Gi Seecaumews 2a f af 1Go7

DATE DUE

RETURN TO
ALBERT R. MANN LIBRARY

| ITHACA, N. Y.

Cornell University Library
: QH 104.5.N5F57

e field & forest.

ay It

ll

mann

Cornell University

Library

The original of this book is in
the Cornell University Library.

There are no known copyright restrictions in
the United States on the use of the text.

http://www.archive.org/details/cu31924003686361

STUDIES

IN

THE FIELD AND FOREST.

BY

WILSON FLAGG.

—

“ All that the genial ray of morning gilds,
And all that echoes to the song of even.” — BEATTIE.

BOSTON:

LITTLE, BROWN AND COMPANY.
1857.

Entered according to Act of Congress, in the year 1856, by
LITTLE, BROWN AND COMPANY,
In the Clerk's Office of the District Court of the District of Massachusetts.

CAMBRIDGE:
ALLEN AND FARNHAM, PRINTERS.

PREFACE.

TuE descriptions of the phases of the year, included
in this volume, were first printed in the years 1839 and
1840, in the “ Boston Weekly Magazine,” published by
D. H. Ela and John B. Hall. ‘The author afterwards,
for several years, devoted himself entirely to the politi-
cal press. Finding at last, that to keep along with his
party, he must be prepared, on the arrival of every new
era, to repudiate, if not to execrate the opinions and
measures which ke had formerly defended, he re-
nounced all connection with politics, and in 1853,
resumed his occupation in that department of litera-
ture which he had so long neglected. The pieces now
presented to the public are a selection from the con-
tributions of the author to the periodical press, with the
addition of several new ones. A large portion of these
appeared originally in Charles M. Hovey’s “ Magazine
of Horticulture,’ and a few others in the “Salem
Gazette,” in which the descriptions of the months were
likewise reprinted. As these essays were written at

iv PREFACE.

different times, and published in different journals, with-
out any original intention of making a book of them,
the reader will be able to account for occasional repeti-
tions, and for the want of those easy transitions from
one chapter to another, which would have rendered the

volume more unique.

CONTENTS.

PAGE

I. Inrropvuction : : ‘ : lL

Il. January . : ‘ : %
Ill. A Corp Day . a , ‘ ; 17
IV. Sounps rrom INANIMATE NATURE. 21
V. FEBRUARY ; P A : 30
VIL Reins ‘ . : ‘ . 38
VU. Rocks . : : : 5 45
VU. Oxp Roaps ; ‘ P ? 52
IX. Marcy. : 7 . . : 57
X. WEATHER SIGNS . : ‘ ‘ it)
XI. Corors anp FRAGRANCE OF FLOWERS. cD
XU. Aprip F 3 ‘ : 87
XU. Tue Vernat FLowenrs F : o6
XIV. Pruea ror tHE Birps . 2 106
XV. Tue Singing Birps anpD THEIR Soncs . 113
NVI. May ‘ ‘ ‘ 123
XVII. Woop Scenery 1x May. . . 130

XVHI On Mutrirtyinc THE Birps AROUND OUR

DWELLINGS. 3 2 . 138

vi

XIX.

XX

XXI.
XXIL
XXL
XXIV.
XXYV.
XXVI.
AAVIL
XXVOL
XXIX.
XXX,
XXXI.
XXXII.
XXXIIL
XXNIV.
AXXY.
XAAVI.
XXNAVIL
XXXVI.
AXAIX.
XL.

CONTENTS.

JUNE

A Summer Nigut In THE Woops
MorninG In SUMMER
JULY

Tue SEA-SHORE

AUGUST

THE THREE DEITIES
ANGLING

Tue FLloweriess PLants
SEPTEMBER

Music or Insects

Tue FLowers or AUTUMN
OcTOBER

CLoups

Water ScENERY
NoveEMBER

Tue Fay or tHE Lear
THe Inprian SuMMER
Picturesque ANIMALS

DECEMBER .

O_p Hovses anp THein INcLosuRES

Fruigur or rie Woov-xympis

STUDIES IN THE FIELD AND FOREST.

I.

INTRODUCTION.

THE object of this work is to foster in the public
mind a taste for the observation of natural objects and
to cultivate that sentiment which is usually designated
as the love of nature. Whatever may be our situation
in life, this habit of the mind will contribute to our hap-
piness, in proportion as it predominates over our taste
for other pleasures, without interfering with our neces--
sary avocations. No man, like the brute, can be happy
from the mere gratification of his animal wants. Alb
our pleasures, including those derived from the survey
of nature, must be exalted by some poetic sentiment, or
they will soon become tiresome and insipid. The ox
that grazes in the pasture undoubtedly receives gratifi-
cation from the sight of green fields and the smell of
fresh meadows: but he has no ideality. He weaves no.
pleasant images of fancy with the scenes he loves to.
frequent; his mind is singularly practical, and his taste:
is entirely unconnected with any mental emotions.
He cherishes no illusions save those which may be sug-
gested by his fears. A rman of low intellect may be-
hold with rapture a garden abounding in ripe and deli-
cious fruits; but for him the garden has no illusive

1

2 STUDIES IN THE FIELD AND FOREST.

charms, nor will his dull imagination lead him to ad-
mire a single object that is without self-evident utility.

There are many persons who live a long life in the
country, without acquiring this imaginative habit of the
mind. They can enjoy the sight of any thing that con-
tributes to their comfort, or to the gratification of their
wants and appetites, and of that sort of beauty which
is glaring like a modern parterre; but they are still un-
imbued with the love of nature. This is the gift of
those who have passed beyond the ordinary plodding
stage of mental culture, and who have learned to asso-
ciate with almost every object in nature some image
derived from the imagination. I believe that all civilized
people are more or less affected by it; but with many
it is a circumstance from which they derive a great pro-
portion of the happiness they find in this life. It is this
sentiment more than any other that enables one to be
happy in retirement. He who, when released from the
cares of his usual occupations, can find pleasure in a
walk in the fields, has a fund of enjoyment, at almost
all times and seasons, outside:‘of his own doors. To
persons of this character nature always furnishes exer-
cise both for the reason and the imagination. Hence
there are two classes of persons that derive pleasure
from rural studies and pursuits, —those who study
natural bistory as a science, and those who survey the
landscape, and its various objects, with a mind stored
with poetic imagery, of which, in one form or another,
almost every object is suggestive. These suggestions
may arise from images derived from our reading or
from our experience; but no man was ever an enthusi-
astic lover of nature, without a proportional share of
poetic sensibility.

A child is pleased with a-flower, because it affects the

INTRODUCTION. 3

sight with an agreeable sensation. Later in life, flowers
would fail to yield us any pleasure, did we not associate
them with certain agreeable fancies; with the remem-
brance perhaps of the pleasures they afforded us in
childhood, and of their connection with many simple
and interesting adventures; with the offices of friend-
ship and love, and their association with numerous
poetic and romantic images. But in some minds
flowers become so intimately allied with those interest-
ing sentiments, that they are beheld with still more de-
light than they afforded in childhood. It is for this rea-
son that if one spent his early years in the country, the
wild flowers are so much more pleasing, to a cultivated
and poetic mind, than the fairest exotics, with the excep-
tion of those which have always been naturalized in our
gardens.

He who lays out a garden with a gorgeous profusion
of flowers, so disposed as to make a dazzling kalei-
oscopic picture, and causing the grounds to resemble a
brilliant Turkey carpet, forgets that by this arrangement
he destroys all their power to contribute to the pleasures
of sentiment. The flowers are then degraded to act
the part of the mere threads which are used to form the
beautiful designs in tapestry. They lose thereby all
their individuality and all their poetry. They are ren-
dered by their assemblage, productive only of an agree-
able physical sensation: for this reason, minds of an
inferior order derive the most pleasure from these inane
exhibitions. Those gardens in which the flowers are
few and not artificially arranged, are the most pleasing
to a man of rational sensibility. As soon as they begin
to dazzle the eyes, they cease to interest the mind or to
affect the imagination.

Man may derive the same pleasure from a garden

4 STUDIES IN THE FIELD AND FOREST.

as from the wilds, if he attempts only to gratify his
love of nature, instead of his vanity or ambition. I
believe the most happiness is found in those little flower-
gardens, which are cultivated by humble people in the
country, and contain a scanty variety, hardly exceed-
ing that of the next wild wood or pasture. In a garden
plat laid out in the most simple manner, a few ordinary
flowers which are as familiar to us as the dandelion and
the buttercup, often form a border around the square
beds that are devoted to culinary vegetables. Among
these a few daffodils greet the inmates of the house, in
early spring, with a swarm of pleasing memories, and
infuse into their souls the glow of bappier days and
years. Occasional clusters of tulips come up in this
border so modestly, as hardly to remind one that they
are emblematical of display. Here the lily is truly the
symbol of meekness; and the roses, that are scattered
‘sparingly among other plants, are sure to awaken that
delightful sentiment which is always associated with
this flower, in the rude pasture or in a humble garden.
The only approach to what may be called an imita-
tion of nature, in a garden, is the avoidance of profu-
sion; for Nature does not plant her flowers in clumps,
and seldom makes any single species grow together
exclusively or in great abundance. The very scarcity
of certain species constitutes a part of their charm;
and half the cause of our preference of wild flowers to
those of the garden, is the habit of finding them half
concealed in some little dingle, or under the protection
of a loftier plant, where they serve to emblem some
interesting’ moral trait or affection. How soon would
the field, the wild wood, and the pasture lose all their
attractions, if they were crowded with flowers as some
vain people crowd their gardens. All the poetry of

INTRODUCTION. 5

nature would vanish with this profusion, and half the
pleasure we derive from the survey of her works, would
be destroyed.

The love of nature is an humble affection of the mind
that may render every man happy. It has no connec-
tion with vanity, and finds more pleasure in contem-
plating a simple and modest flower-garden, reared by
some pious votary of nature, than the most gorgeous
parterre. It is a false notion, that without wealth one
has no means of enjoying the pleasures of a garden; or
that one must live in a showy house to give evidence of
taste. The “love of the beautiful” has lately become
a subject of the merest cant; for a love of the beauti-
ful, except as it is connected with sentiment, is no better
than the taste of the savage who daubs himself with
paint, or of the dandy who covers himself with jewelry.
The most uncultivated and prosaic of mankind have
that love of the beautiful which indulges itself in gor-
geous tapestry, dazzling embellishments, highly orna-
mented houses, and fashionable finery. Such are the
men who see no charms in nature, unless she be dressed
like the estate of a nobleman. No people can be ren-
dered more happy by the cultivation of this love of
mere agreeable sensations. I would encourage frugal-
ity in the decoration of nature, as well as in the decora-
tion of the person; and I would plant flowers, not as
mere beautiful objects, but as emblems of some pleas-
ing traits of character, and material forms that serve to
awaken in the mind some poetic image, that shall nur-
ture and delight the soul.

The love of nature is planted more or less in every
human breast, though in many it is not sufficient to re-
press the more energetic love of finery and display.
But the eagerness with which all persons, when em-

1 *

6 STUDIES IN THE FIELD AND FOREST.

ployed in decorating a hall for a festive occasion, seize
an opportunity to go into the woods, shows an innate
love of nature still glowing warmly in their hearts.
Upon arriving there and commencing their rustic work
of plunder, beneath the odorous pines or among the
trailing evergreens, they are struck with surprise at the
sudden buoyancy that animates their spirits. There
are but few who have yet learned how nature is ever
ready to contribute to the enjoyments of those, who,
with humble mind are ready to receive her gifts, where
only they can be fully enjoyed, under the threshold of
her own temples in the fields and woods. It is then,
while looking with delight upon the husbandman en-
gaged in his rustic toils, we feel a painful regret that
we ourselves cannot return to those occupations, which
are, after all, the truest sources of happiness.

Nature, by having endowed mankind with this innate
love of rural pursuits, proves her design that our happi-
ness should depend on her own munificence; and on
the love with which her scenes inspire us, depends our
capacity to preserve our minds from sadness, and to
turn the good things of earth into fountains of joy.
She has disclosed to the eyes of the worldly man, only
the mere surface of beauty: but for him who yields
himself to her guidance, there is an inner light pro-
vided that opens to him an infinite world of wonders
and stores of happiness. The green plain and the blue
vault of heaven do not escape the notice of the most
uncultivated boor; but to the man of feeling alone do
they convey an idea of the immensity of the one, and
the infinite beauty of the other.

Man can make himself happy only by confining his
ambition to the simple attainment of the approbation
of virtuous men, and by restraining his desires within

INTRODUCTION. 7

the bounds of a few acres, cultivated by his own hand.
Then will he find his pleasures expanding with the sim-
plicity of his wants; and while the lovers of forbidden
things are loathing life amid a surfeit of luxuries, he
discovers with the light of every new morning, some
fresh fountain of happiness at the inner shrine of
nature.

II.

JANUARY.

Poets in all ages have sung of the delights of seed-
time and harvest, and of the voluptuous pleasures of
summer; but when treating of winter, they have con-
fined their descriptions to the sports of the season,
rather than to the beauties of nature. Winter is sup-
posed to furnish but few enjoyments to be compared
with those of summer; because the majority of men,
being oppressed by too many burdens, naturally yearn
for a life of indolence. I will not deny that the pleas-
ures derived from the direct influence of nature are
greatly diminished in cold weather; there are not so
many interesting objects to amuse the mind, as in the
season when all animated things are awake, and the
earth is covered with vegetation; but there are many
pleasant rural excursions and invigorating exercises,
which can be enjoyed only in the winter season, and
for which thousands of our undegenerate yeomanry
would welcome its annual visit.

It is only on occasional days of tempest or extreme
cold, which form but a small portion of the whole sea-
son, that one, who has a moderate share of health and
vigor, is necessarily confined within doors. The pleas-

JANUARY. 9

ures of a winter’s walk are chiefly such as are derived
from prospect. A landscape painter could be but par-
tially acquainted with the sublimity of terrestial scenery,
if he had never looked upon the earth when it was
covered with snow. In summer the prospect unfolds
such an infinite array of beautiful things to our sight,
that the sublimity of the scene is hidden beneath a
spectacle of dazzling and gorgeous splendor. We are
then more powerfully attracted by objects of beauty
that charm the senses, than by those grander aspects of
nature that awaken the emotion of sublimity. In
winter, nature is divested of all those accompaniments
of her scenery which are not in unison with grandeur.
At this period, therefore, the mind is affected with
nobler thoughts; it is less bewildered by a multitude
of fascinating objects, and is more free to indulge itself
in a train of profound meditations. Jn summer the
lover of nature is intoxicated with beauty; in winter
he feels a freedom of thought and an exhilaration of
soul, which can be fully enjoyed only when contemplat-
ing the grandeur and serenity of the elements in their
repose.

The exhilaration of mind attending a winter walk in
the fields and woods, when the earth is covered with
snow, surpasses any emotion of the kind which is pro-
duced by the appearance of nature at any other season.
We often hear in conversation of the invigorating
effects of cold weather; yet those few only who are
engaged in rural occupations, and who spend the
greater part of the day in the open air, can fully realize
the amount of physical enjoyment that springs from it.
I can appreciate the languid recreations of a warm
summer's day. When one is at leisure in the country
he cannot fail to enjoy it, if he can take shelter under

10 STUDIES IN THE FIELD AND FOREST.

the canopy of trees, or in the deeper shade of the forest.
But these languid enjoyments would soon become op-
pressive and monotonous; and the constant participa-
tion of them must cause one gradually to degenerate
into a mere animal. The human mind is constituted
to feel positive pleasure only in action. Sleep and rest
are mere negative conditions, to which we submit with
a grateful sense of their power to fit us for the renewed
exercise of the mind and the body. The pleasures of
the inhabitant of southern climes compared with those
of the northern man, differ as the pleasures of repose
difler from those of action; and although almost every
man feels a sense of regret, when he perceives the ap-
proach of winter, I believe, that to the healthy and the
hardy, this season is nearly as welcome as summer.

One of the noted peculiarities of this month when
our fathers were living, was the great thaw. In ancient
days, when the winter regularly commenced with
December and ended with February, this annual thaw
seldom failed to visit our climate in the month of
January. Since the clearing of the forests, the charac-
ter of the seasons is greatly altered. The mean annual
temperature remains the same; but winter has en-
croached upon the green boundaries of spring, and
often ventures to sprinkle his frosts upon the flowery
landscape of June. He has usurped dominion over
about five months of the year, during which the cold,
lasting but a few days at a time, is constantly alternat-
ing with longer spells of mild and thawing weather.
Hence there is no month of winter when we may not
be visited by a thaw; and the ices of December may
be broken up at Christmas, not to be renewed until
March.

In our latitude at the present time, January is usually

JANUARY. 11

the month of the greatest cold; and in severe weather
there is a general stillness that is favorable to musing.
The little streamlets are frozen and silent, and there is
hardly any motion except of the winds, and of the
trees that bend to their force. But the works of na-
ture are still carried on beneath the frost and snow.
Though the flowers are. buried in their hyemal sleep,
thousands of unseen elements are present, all waiting
to prepare their hues and fragrance, when the spring
* returns and wakes the flowers, and calls the bees out
from their hives. Nature is always active in her opera-
tions; and during winter are the embryos nursed of
myriad hosts, that will soon spread beauty over the
plains, and give animation to the field and forest.

Since the beauties of summer and autumn have
faded, nature has bestowed on earth and man a lovely
recompense, and spread the prospect with new scenes
of beauty and sublimity. The frozen branches of the
trees are clattering in the wind, and the reed stands
nodding above.the ice and shivers in the rustling breeze.
But while these things remind us of the chills of win-
ter, the universal prospect of snow sends into the soul
the light of its own perfect purity and splendor, and
makes the landscape still beautiful in its desolation.
Though we look in vain for a green: herb, save where
the ferns and mosses conceal themselves in little dingles
among the rocks, yet the general face of the earth is
unsurpassed in brilliancy. Morning, noon, and night
exhibit glories unknown to any other season; and the
‘moon is more lovely when she looks down from her
starry throne, and over field, lake, mountain, and valley,
emblems the tranquillity of heaven.

It is pleasing to watch the progress and movements
of a snow-storm, while the flakes are thickly falling

12. 2 STUDIES IN THE FIELD AND FOREST.

from the skies, and the drifts are rapidly accumulating
along the sides of the fences, and in the lanes and hol-
lows. The peculiar motion of the winds, while eddy-
ing and whirling over the varied surface of the ground,
is rendered more apparent than by any other phenome-
non. Every curve and every irregular twisting of the
wind is made palpable, to a degree that is never wit-
nessed in the whirling leaves of autumn, in the sand
of the desert, or in the dashing spray of the ocean.
The appearance is less exciting, when the snow de-
scends through a perfectly still atmosphere; but after
its cessation, we may witness a spectacle of singular
beauty. There has been no wind to disturb the snow-
flakes as they were deposited on the branches of the
trees, to which they adhere, and hang from them like
a drapery of muslin. ‘Then do we see throughout the
woods the mimic splendor of June; and the plumage
of snow that hangs from the branches, revives in fancy’s
eye the white clustering blossoms of the orchards in
early summer.

Sometimes when the woods are fully wreathed in
snow-flakes, and the earth is clothed in an interminable
robe of ermine, the full moon rises upon the landscape,
and illumines the whole scene with a kind of unearthly
splendor. If we wake out of sleep into a sudden view
of this enchanted scene, though the mind be depressed
with sorrow, it is impossible, without rapture, to con-
template the glorious prospect. The unblemished
purity of the snow picture, before the senses are
awakened to a full and realizing consciousness of our’
situation, glows upon the vision, like a scene from that
fairy world which has often gleamed upon the soul
during its youthful season of romance and _ poetry.
And when the early rays of morning penetrate these

JANUARY. 13

feathery branches; and spread over the white and spot-
less hills of snow a rosy tinge, like the hues that burnish
the clouds at sunset, and kindle amid the glittering
fleece, that is wreathed around the branches, all the
changeable colors of the rainbow; we are compelled to
exclaim that the summer landscape with all its verdure
and flowery magnificence, was never more lovely than
this transitory scene of beauty. Yet the brilliancy of
this spectacle, like the rainbow in heaven, passes away
almost while we are gazing on its fantastic splendor.
A brisk current of wind scatters from the branches, like
the fading leaves of autumn, all the false honors that
have garlanded the forests, and in an hour they have
disappeared for ever.

Though we are apt to look upon snow as the mere
rude and dreary accompaniment of wink, it not only.
constitutes one of the principal charms of the land-
scape at this season, but it is also one of those peculiar
provisions of nature, in which she has concealed her
benevolence. While it affords protection to plants and
animals, and to the embryos of insects now buried
under the surface of the soil, it supplies in a measure
by its whiteness, that deficiency of light which, during.
the winter solstice, is so painfully felt. If it were black,
it would be melted by the first rays of the sun that
shine upon it, and frozen in his absence into solid
masses of ice, which would be greatly injurious to
herbs and shrubs. Hence, while the snow protects
animal and vegetable life, that exists in a hybernating
state in the bosom of the soil, and prevents: the super-
ficial heat of the earth from being radiated into the:
atmosphere, the whiteness of the snow preserves

the snow itself, until the warmth of a new season is
2

14 STUDIES, IN THE FIELD AND FOREST.

sufficient to give life to the objects that slumber be-
neath.

Besides the pleasing objects already described as pe-
culiar to the season, there are many beautiful appear-
ances formed by the freezing of waters and the crystal-
lization of vapors, which one can never cease to
examine with delight. One of the most brilliant
spectacles of this kind is exhibited on a frosty morn-
ing, after the prevalence of a damp sea-breeze. The
crystals, almost imperceptibly minute, are distributed
like the delicate filaments of the microscopic mosses,
over the withered herbs and leafless shrubbery, creating
a sort of mimic vegetation in the late abodes of the
flowers. Vast sheets of thin ice overspread the plains,
beneath which the water has sunk into the earth, leav-
ing the vacan®spots of a pure whiteness, and forming
hundreds of little fairy circles, of a peculiarly fantastic
appearance. The ferns and sedges that lift up their
bended blades and feathers through the plates of ice,
coated with millions of crystals, resemble, while spark-
ling in the rays of the sun, the finest jewelry. After
a damp and frosty night, these appearances are singu-
larly beautiful, and all the branches of the trees glitter
with them, as if surrounded with a network of dia-
monds,

These exhibitions of frostwork are still more magnifi-
cent at waterfalls, where a constant vapor arises with
the spray, and deposits upon the icicles that hang from
the projecting rocks, a plumage resembling the finest
ermine. Some of the icicles, by a constant accumula-
tion of water, which is always dripping from the crags,
have attained the size of pillars, that seem almost to
support the shelving rocks from which they are sus-

JANUARY. 15

pended. The foam of the water has been frozen into
large white masses, like a snow bank in appearance,
but as solid as ice. The shrubs, that project from the
crevices of the rocks, are clad in a full armor of varie-
gated icicles; and when the slanting rays of the sun
penetrate into these recesses, they illuminate them with
a dazzling and unearthly splendor; and it seems as if
the nymphs, that sit by these fountains, had decorated
them as the portals to that inner temple of nature,
whence are the issues of all that is lovely and beautiful
on earth.

: Thus, when all the delightful objects of summer have
perished, endless sources of amusement and delight are
still provided for the mind and the senses. Though the
singing-bird has fled from the orchard, and the rustling
of green leaves is heard no longer in the haunts of the
little mountain streams, there are still many things to
attract attention, by their beauty or their sublimity.
Whether we view the frosts that decorate the herbage
in the morning, or the widespread loveliness of the snow
on.a moonlight evening, the sublimity of heaven seems
to rest upon the face of the earth, and we behold with
rapt emotions every terrestial scene. The universe, full
of these harmonies, yields never-ending themes for
study and meditation, to absorb and delight the mind
that is ever searching after knowledge, and to raise the
soul above the clods of the valley, to that invisible
power that dwells throughout all space.

I never listen to the shrill voice of the woodpecker,
within the deep shelters of the forest, or to the lively
notes of the chickadee, which alternate with the sound
of winds among the dry rustling leaves, without feeling
a sudden and delightful transport. I cannot help in-
dulging the fancy, that nature has purposely endowed

16 STUDIES IN THE FIELD AND FOREST.

these active birds with a hardihood almost miraculous,
to endure the severity of winter, that they might al-
ways remain to cheer the loneliness of these wintry
solitudes. For no clime or season has nature omitted
to provide blessings for those who are willing to receive
them, and in winter wheresoever we turn, we find a
thousand pleasant recompenses for our privations. ‘The
Naiad still sits by her fountain, at the foot of the val-
ley, distributing her favors to the husbandman and his
flocks; and the echoes still repeat their voices from the
summits of the hills, and send them over the plains,,
with multiplied reverberations, to cheer the hearts of all
living creatures.

IIL.

A COLD DAY.

Att night have we been listening to the fresh blowing
of the winds, and dreading an encounter with the cold
that was to await us in the morning. Day has dawned,
and the sky and atmosphere are as clear as the ethereal
space between the heavens and the earth. The sun’s
broad disk is already above tke horizon; but his rays
dimly penetrate through the window panes, almost
opaque with a thick coating of frost. As they struggle
through this frostwork, thousands of beautiful con-
figurations are cast upon the opposite ceiling, which are
in a constant wavering motion. The sunbeams, as
bright as a perfectly pellucid atmosphere can make
them, are rendered powerless by the cold winds that
bind them in their embraces.

The mercury has sunk below zero. The fire that is
blazing upon the hearth sends no heat into the room;
and the whole family gather round it in a semicircle,
scorching themselves in a vain effort to obtain warmth.
We go to our tasks, but we cannot pursue them. A
freezing cold settles all around us, and drives us con-
stantly to the fire. The needle drops from the hand of
the seamstress, and the penman can scarcely make his

Qe

18 STUDIES IN THE FIELD AND FOREST.

mark. The latches of the doors fasten upon the hands,
‘as we attempt to open them. Every thing we take
into our hands is like a mass of indissoluble ice. The
whole business of the day is to keep ourselves from
freezing. There is no ceremony in the house; all the
inmates gather round the fire, and talk of nothing but
‘the weather. .

In the almost deserted streets we see no loitering at
‘corners, and no gathering in the porches of the public-
houses. Every one is hwrying onward, with face
averted from the wind, his garments muffled closely
around him, and he hardly deigns to recognize a pass-
ing acquaintance; or, if he be saluted, to make him a
reply, in his haste to get to his journey’s end. All are
rapidly moving; even the most indolent seem to be
suddenly capable of speed. The loaded teams that
pass along the streets, are creaking like a band of
musical instruments. The cattle are whitened with
frost, and long beards of icicles are hanging from their
‘chins.

The earth is white with snow, and the sun casts a
bright but ineffectual beam over the wide glittering
plain. Not a single crystal of hoarfrost melts upon
the window-glass, so powerless are the sun’s rays; but
it accumulates all the day, until the glass has lost its
transparency. Long icicles have made their appear-
ance suddenly, dependent from different parts of the
roof. All the eaves of the houses are fringed with
these icicles, of various lengths, glittering like so many
precious jewels, in the light of the sun. Smaller ones
are hanging from the branches of the trees, and wide
glistening sheets of ice have incrusted the springy sides
of the hills.

There is a long volume of fog rolled in heaps upon

A COLD DAY. 19

the surface of the bay, that seems to bound the horizon.
Such a fog always denotes an intense cold. It is
formed from the steam that may be seen issuing from
the brink of the waters, just beyond the ice that girds
the shore. Often during the day, a sleety snow,
scarcely visible, on account of the minuteness of the
crystals, will pour down from the skies, making the cut-
ting blast still more severe, as it beats against the face
and eyes of the traveller. At such times, it may be
observed that the sky is not perfectly transparent, being
dimmed by this sleet, which resembles a thin cloud of
dust rather than of vapor. This phenomenon is caused
by the steam which has risen from the ocean, in an in-
visible form, and crystallized as it ascended into the at-
mosphere.

On this day many a little bird will perish in the forest,
struck by a shaft from the inclement skies; and the
fishes that swim in the shallow waters will be imbedded,
like petrifactions, in the ice; for all the little rivulets are
frozen, and their gurgling is not heard beneath the
snows. The crows, and jays, and other winter birds
are almost silent in the woods, and the bleating of
flocks is not heard upon the hills. No living creature
dares come forth to an encounter with the winds. All
nature is still, save the fresh biting blast that is sweep-
ing over the earth, and striking all living things with
the stillness and coldness of death.

The poultry in the yards are gathered together in
sunny corners, or under the shelter of a fence, apparently
torpid. Here and there is a scattering one, moping
around the door step, with its feathers frizzled, and its
limbs almost too benumbed to support its weight.
When the door is opened, they suddenly arouse from
their torpidity, and then sink back again to their retreat.

20 STUDIES IN THE FIELD AND FOREST.

The only comfort among ‘the brute creation is enjoyed
by the cattle within the barns, and the sheep within
their fold.

The sun is drawing near his decline, but no beautiful
colors surround his setting. The sky is perfectly blue
over our heads, and a grayish circle binds the horizon,
illuminated with a kind of yellow light, save in the
close vicinity of the bay, where the rising vapor has
formed a girdle of purple haze dimly fringed with the
hues of the rainbow. No clouds are in the atmosphere,
for its intense coldness precipitates the vapor into erys-
tals, that fall to the earth ere it has arrived at any con-
siderable height. Every thing is still, save the winds
that whistle through the doors and crevices, and clatter
among the stiff and frozen branches of the trees.

It is evening. The doors and windows are tightly
closed; the hearths of the dwelling-houses are heaped
with fuel, and all the villagers are assembled around
their firesides. The windows, at this time, exhibit a
magnificent appearance as we pass them on the outside,
while the lamps are glittering from within, through their
myriad configurations of frost. The window panes re-
semble so many pictured glasses; and while the forms
of objects within cannot be scen, the lamps twinkle
through the frostwork, and cast upon the traveller a
beautiful and variegated light.

IV.

SOUNDS FROM INANIMATE NATURE.

Natvre in every scene and situation has established
certain sounds which are indicative of its character.
The sounds we hear in the hollow dells among the
mountains are unlike those of the open plains; and the
echoes of the sea-shore repeat sounds that are never re-
verbérated among the inland valleys. There are many
species of singing birds within the solitudes of a forest,
which are seldom heard or seen in our orchards or gar-
dens. In the mind of one who has been early accus-
tomed to the wild woods, the warbling of these solitary
birds is pleasantly connected with their stillness and
their grandeur. Besides the singing of birds and the
chirping of insects, there are voices from inanimate
nature, which are full of pleasing suggestions. The
murmuring of winds and the rustling of foliage, the
gurgling of streams and the bubbling of fountains, come
to our ears like the music of our early days, accom-
panied by many agreeable fancies. A stream rolling
over a rough declivity, a fountain bubbling up from a
subterranean hollow, produce sounds suggestive of fra-
grant summer arbors, of cool retreats, and all their de-
lightful accompaniments.

22 STUDIES IN THE FIELD AND FOREST.

The roar of a waterfall, when constantly near us, is
disagreeable; but the purling of a rill, if not music, is
something very nearly allied to it. The most agreeable
expression of the noise of waters is their animation.
They give life to the scenes around us, like the voices
of birds and insects. In winter, especially, they make
an agreeable interruption of the stillness; and remind
us, that during the slumber of all visible things, some
hidden powers are still guiding the operations of nature.
The rapids produced by a small stream flowing over a
gentle declivity of rocks yield, perhaps, the most expres-
sive sound of waters, unless we except the distant roar
of waves, as they are dashed upon the shore of the sea.
The last, being intermittent, is preferable to the roar of
a waterfall, which is tiresomely incessant. Nearly all
the sounds made by water are agreeable, and cannot be
multiplied without increasing the delightful influences
of the place and the season.

Besides the pleasant sounds that come from water, in*
all its variety of shapes and movements, we must not
omit to mention those which are produced by winds, as
they pass through the branches and foliage of trees and
shrubbery. The colors of their leaves, and the glitter-
ing light from their more or less refractive surfaces, do
not differ more than the modifications of sound pro-
duced from them by the passing breezes. Every tree
may be said, when agitated by the winds, to have a
voice peculiar to itself, and capable of exciting the most
agreeable sensations. The lofty branches of pines,
when swayed by the wind, emit a sound like the
murmuring of distant waters, and inspire a soothing
melancholy like that inspired by the continual twilight
that reigns within their solitudes. The leaves of the
poplar, proverbial for their tremulous motion, produce a

SOUNDS FROM INANIMATE NATURE. 23

more cheerful sound, corresponding with the gayety of
summer, and harmonizing with the ‘more lively scenes
around them. Every tree and shrub is a delicate
musical instrument, whose notes remind us of the char-
acter of their foliage, and of the season of the year, —
from the mellow harmony of the willow trees in sum-
mer, to the sharp rustling of the dry oak leaf that tells
us of the arrival of winter.

Each season of the year has its peculiar melodies,
besides those proceeding from the animated creation.
In the opening of the year, when the leaves are tender
and pliable, there is a mellowness in the sound of the
breezes, as if they felt the voluptuous influence of spring.
Nature then softens all the sounds from inanimate
things, as if to avoid making any harsh discords with
the anthem that issues from the streams and wood-
lands, vocal with the songs of millions of happy crea-
tures. The echoes also repeat less distinctly the multi-
tudinous: notes of birds, insects, and other creeping
things. To the echoes, spring and summer are seasons
of comparative rest, save those which reside among
the rocks of the desert, or among the dells of the craggy
sea-shore. Here, sitting invisibly in their retreats, are
they ever responding to those sorrowful sounds that are
borne upon the waves, as they sullenly recount the perils
and accidents of the great deep.

After the severe frosts of autumn, the winds become
shriller, as they pass over the naked reeds and rushes,
and through the leafless branches of the trees, and there
is a familiar sadness in their murmurs, as they whirl
among the dry rustling leaves. When winter has
arrived and enshrouded all the landscape in a winding-
sheet of snow, the echoes once more venture out upon
the open plain, and repeat, with unusual distinctness,

24 STUDIES IN THE FIELD AND FOREST.

the miscellaneous sounds from wood, village, and farm.
During winter they enjoy a long holiday of freedom,
and show no sympathy with the desolate appearance of
nature. They hold a laughing revelry in the haunts of
the Dryad,” who sits sad and disconsolate in her now
unsheltered retreats, where the leafless boughs scarcely
protect her from the shivering wind, or shade her from
the cold icy beams of the moon.

At this time our ears are greeted by the sound of the
woodman’s axe, that comes with multiplied reverbera-
tions through the solitude of the forest. Though one
of the most cheerful of all sounds, so far as it reminds
us of the presence of human beings in these solitary
places, yet it is sadly suggestive of the fall of venerable
woods, and of those changes in the face of nature which
we cannot witness without regret. With a more un-
mixed cheerfulness do we listen to the hammering of
the woodpecker upon some hollow tree in the wood,
and to the creaking of the dry branches which are partly
severed from the trunk of the tree, as they swing to and
fro in the wind.

But when the sun gains a few more degrees in his
meridian height, and the snow begins to disappear
under the fervor of his beams, then do the sounds from
the dropping eaves, and the clash of falling icicles from
the boughs of the orchard trees, afford a pleasant sensa-
tion of the grateful change. which has already com-
menced; and: the utterance of these vernal promises
suddenly awakens all the delightful anticipation of birds
and flowers. The moaning of the winds has been
plainly softened by the changes of the season, and the

* The Dryad, in modern mythology, is the fanciful impersonation
of all animal life in the woods.

SOUNDS FROM INANIMATE NATURE. 25

summer zephyrs that occasionally pay usa short visit
from the south, and signalize their coming by the crim-
soned dews at sunrise, let loose a thousand rills that
make a lively babbling music, as they leap down the
hill-side into the valleys. Yet of all these sounds from
inanimate nature, there is not one but is hallowed by
some glad or tender sentiment of which it is suggestive ;
and we have but to yield our hearts to their influences
to feel that for the ear as well as for the eye, nature has
provided an endless store of pleasures.

I believe that the majority of agreeable sounds from
the inanimate world owe their charm to their power of
gently exciting the emotion of melancholy. Our minds
are constructed with such a benevolent regard to our
happiness, that all the feelings of the heart, including
even those of a painful sort, are capable, under certain
states or degrees of excitement, of becoming a source
of agreeable sensations. Such is the memory of past
pleasures, that brings with it a species of melancholy
which is a luxury to all persons of refined sensibility.
The murmur of gentle gales among the trembling aspen
leaves, or the noise of the hurricane upon the sea-shore,
the roar of distant waters, the sighing of the wind as it
flits by our windows or moans through the casement,
have the power of exciting just enough of this senti-
ment to. produce an agreeable state of the mind.
Along with the melancholy they excite, there is some-
thing that tranquillizes the soul and exalts it above the
mere pleasures of sense.

It is this power of producing the sentiment of melan-
choly that causes the sound of rain to yield pleasure to
the majority of minds. The pattering of rain upon the
windows, but more particularly on the roof of a house
under which we are sitting, is attended with a singular

3

26 STUDIES IN THE FIELD AND FOREST.

charm. The more violent the rain, if its violence be
not sufficient to cause alarm, the more profound is the
emotion that springs from it. There are few persons
who do not recollect, with a most agreeable sense of
past delight, some adventure of a shower that obliged
them, on a journey, to take shelter under a rustic roof
by the way-side. The pleasure produced by the sight
and sound of the rain, under this retreat, often comes
more delightfully to our remembrance than all the sun-
shiny adventures of the day. But in. order to be
affected in the most agreeable manner by the sound of
rain, itis necessary to be in the company of those whom
we love, and to know at the same time that the objects
of our care are within doors, and to be ignorant of any
one’s exposure to its violence. From this consciousness
of security comes perhaps half the pleasure awakened
by the sound of rain; but this I am confident would
not account for the whole effect.

The question has often been argued, why we delight
in witnessing from a place of security, a ship buffeting
the waves in a storm. This pleasure can arise only
‘from the excitement of hoping for the final deliverance
of the vessel and her crew, and of watching the progress
of the sufferers while they are striving to reach the
harbor. It does not arise from contrasting our own
safety with the dangers to which they are exposed.
On the contrary, should we behold a certain prospect
of their destruction, we should no longer take any
pleasure in the sight. But the view of a storm is pleas-
ing, when we are ourselves, and believe others to be, ina
place of safety. Then do we listen with intense de-
light to the voice of winds and waters as they contend
with the demon of the storm, and the awful warring
of the elements excites the most sublime sensations,

SOUNDS FROM INANIMATE NATURE. 27

unalloyed with any painful anxiety for the safety of a
fellow-being.

During a thunderstorm, the thunder is in most cases
too terrific to allow one to feel a tranquil enjoyment of
the occasion. Perhaps there is no sound in the world
which is so pleasantly modified by distance. Some
minutes before the commencement of a thunderstorm,
there is a perfect stillness of the atmosphere which is
fearfully ominous of the approaching tempest. It fol-
lows the first enshrouding of daylight in the clouds
which are gathering slowly over our heads, as they
come up from the western horizon. It is at such a
time that the sullen moan of the thunder, far down, as
it were, below the belt of the hemisphere, is peculiarly
solemn and impressive, and more productive of the
emotion of sublimity than when its crash is heard di-
rectly. over our heads.

Thunder is evidently heard with different emotions,
when it proceeds from the clouds which are rising
towards us, and when it proceeds from those which
have already settled down in the east, after the storm
has passed away. The consciousness that the one in-
dicates a rising storm renders it strongly suggestive of
the perils we are soon to encounter, and adds intensity
to the feelings with which we contemplate it. When
we are in the midst of a violent thunderstorm, we feel
the emotion of fear rather than that of sublimity.
An uncomfortable amount of anxiety destroys that
tranquillity of mind which is necessary for the full en-
joyment of the sublime as well as the beautiful scenes
of nature.

But it is pleasant after the terrors of the storm have
ceased, when the blue sky in the west begins to peer in
dim streaks, through the misty and luminous atmos-

28 STUDIES IN THE FIELD AND FOREST.

phere, to watch the lightnings from the window, as they
play down the dark clouds in the eastern horizon, and
to listen to the rumblings of the thunder as it com-
mences loudly over our head, and dies away alinost like
the roaring of waves in a distant part of the heavens.
Then do we contemplate the spectacle with a grateful
feeling of relief from the fears that lately agitated the
mind, and surrender our souls to all the influences
naturally awakened by a mingled scene of beauty and
grandeur.

The emotion of sublimity is more powerfully excited
by any circumstance that adds mystery to the scene, or
the sounds we may be contemplating. For this reason
any sound which resembles that of an earthquake im-
presses the mind at once with a feeling of awe, however
insignificant its origin. The wailing of winds through
the crevices of the doors and windows owes its effect, in
a great measure, to this principle of mystery, and,
especially to the young or the superstitious, often be-
comes a source of sublimity. Hence the power of the,
dusky shapes of twilight to produce terror, and hence
the booming of a cannon over a distance that renders
its identity uncertain, and prolongs the sound by hol-
low reverberations, causes in the hearers a breathless
attention, as to something ominous of danger. We
may thus explain why all sounds are so suggestive in
the stillness of the night: the rustling of a zephyr as it
glides half noiselessly through the foliage of the trees;
a few scarce but heavy drops of rain from a passing
cloud, that give the signal of an approaching shower;
the footfall of a solitary passenger in the street; the
tinkling of a cow bell, heard occasionally as the crea-
ture changes her position under a tree in a neighboring
field; —all these sounds are dependent on the stillness

SOUNDS FROM INANIMATE NATURE. 29

and darkness of the night for their peculiar influence on
the mind.

It is evident that the charm of all these sounds pro-
ceeds from the imagination. A person who has not
cultivated this faculty is dead to a thousand pleasures
from this source, that form a considerable portion of the
happiness of the man of superior intellect. Music has
no advantage over other sounds, except in its greater
power to act upon the imagination. To appreciate the
charm of musical notes, or to perceive the beauty of an
elegant building or of splendid tapestry, requires but
little mental culture. But to be susceptible of pleasure
from what are commonly regarded as indifferent sounds,
or indifferent sights, is the meed of those who have
cherished the higher faculties and the better feelings of
their nature. To such persons the world is full of sug-
gestive sounds as well as of suggestive sights, and not
the whisper of a breeze or the murmur of a wave but
is in unison with some chord in their memory or their
imagination.

oF

5

FEBRUARY.

T am no lover of cold weather; and feel more con-
tented, when the sultry heats of summer oblige me to
seek the refreshing sca-breezes, beneath a willow tree
on the margin of the sea-shore, than when the cold
blasts of winter drive me into the house, to take shelter
by the fireside. But there are days in winter, when the
wind blows gently from the south-west, which are at-
tended with pleasurable feelings, seldom experienced in
the most delightful summer weather. I have already
spoken of the sublimity of a winter prospect, of the
charms of a snowy landscape, by sunlight and by moon-
light, and of other natural beauties, which are produced
by frost and ice. It remains to speak of some of those
phenomena, which are conspicuous during warm and
sunny days in winter, when the weather seems to be
that of a different climate. Whether the delightful in-
fluence of these haleyon days arises from a physical
cause, or whether it is the result of contrast with the
cold, that has so long kept one imprisoned, I cannot
determine. But when I review in memory the rural
rambles of former years, my winter walks on these

FEBRUARY. 31

delightful days, will always crowd most sweetly and
vividly upon my recollection.

After a long confinement within doors, our feelings
are keenly alive to agreeable impressions from rural
sights and sounds, which are associated with the pleas-
ures of the past summer. Then does the sight of a
green arbor in the woods, or a green plat in the valley,
affect one as I can imagine the weary traveller in the
desert is affected, upon meeting an oasis, in the midst of
the drifting sands. The melancholy that attends a ram-
ble in the autumn has passed from us, and we now
come forth, during the sleep of vegetation, and in the
general hush of animated things, with feelings allied to
the cheerfulness that inspires the mind, when the little
song-sparrow pours out his early lays of gladness to the
first bright morning in spring. Some blessing comes
from every sacrifice, and some recompense for every
privation. Thus does the darkness of night prepare us
to welcome with gladiess the dawn of a new morning.
The charm of life proceeds from these vicissitudes, and
we are capable of no new enjoyment until we have
rested from pleasure.

T have often taken advantage of one of these serene
days of winter, to ramble in the woods. Every sound I
hear at such a time is music, though it be but the cow-
bell’s chime, the stroke of the woodman’s axe, or the crash
of some tall tree, just falling tothe ground. Sometimes
during this season of calm sunshine, the little squirrels
will come forth from their retreats; and in the echoing
silence of the woods, we may hear their rustling leap
among the dry oak leaves, their occasional chirrup, and
the dropping of nutshells from the lofty branches of the
hickory. There is music in all the echoes that break
the stillness of the scenes around; in the cawing of the

32 STUDIES IN THE FIELD AND FOREST.

raven, the scream of the jay, or the quick hammering of
the woodpecker upon the hollow trunk of some ancient
standard of the forest. All these sounds are endued
with a pleasing cadence, and with them are associated
some of my most agreeable recollections of nature.

The orchards at this time are frequented by wood-
peckers of several species, so interesting on account of
their lively motions, their brilliant plumage, distin-
guished from that of other birds by its contrasted colors,
and on account of their curious habit of winding in
and out, and over and under the branches of trees,
Sometimes a multitude of these birds will assemble
together, in company with the little chickadees, and
make the woods resound with their querulous voices.
Occasionally we arouse a bevy of whistling quails,
which have maintained a snug silence under the juni-
per bushes, whither they resort for their fragrant repast
of winter berries, and while sauntering onward, the
whirring partridge startles one by its sudden flight,
directly from under our feet.

The mild serenity of the weather; the fresh odors
that arise from thawing vegetation; the beautiful haze
that surrounds the horizon, reflecting all the colors of
the rainbow; the lively chattering of poultry in the
farm yard; the bleating of flocks and the lowing of
kine; an occasional concert of crows in the neighbor-
ing wood; the checkered landscape of snow-drifts, ris-
ing out of the brown earth, and gleaming in the sun-
shine, and the soft white light that glows from distant
hills and spires;— all these rural sights and sounds
come upon the senses with a ravishment never felt in
the fairest gardens ‘or the most delightful clime. Now
and then in the midst of this harmonious discord, as if
to remind us of the past delights of summer, a solitary

FEBRUARY. 33

song-sparrow, that'still lingers about his former haunts,
will open his little throat, and sing from some leafless
thorn, one of his most simple and enchanting lays.

But in winter, we are seldom favored in succession,
with many of these delightful days. They appear just
often enough to save us from an utter forgetfulness of
nature, like an occasional visit from an absent friend.
At such times, all creatures take advantage of the fine
weather to forage the woods and pastures, and supply
their famishing wants; and one of the pleasant occu-
pations of our leisure, consists in tracing to their haunts
the different species of birds, that still sojourn with us,
like friends in trouble and adversity. These harmless
creatures often suffer greatly with famine, many of
them dying of starvation as well as of cold; and it
is the part of benevolence to feed them, and look out
for their protection. Quails and robins remain in our
woods throughout the winter, feeding on berries, seeds,
and the gleanings of corn fields. An unusual quantity
of snow may deprive them of these resources ; and
man, the lord of creation, should prove himself wor-
thy of his sovereignty, by protecting these innocent
wanderers, for whom nature, under all circumstances,
has not provided.

Flocks of sparrows and snow-birds are often seen
hovering around our dwellings, and by their cheerful
twittering, seem to be asking alms of the inmates.
They may be seen timidly feeding with the poultry, or
pecking at the windowglass, for something that glis-
tens on the inner side of the pane. The humane and
considerate are in the habit of strewing seeds and
crumbs of bread on the fences, and in the footpaths,
where they may find them and relieve their hunger.
And what do we by such acts, but divide with others a

34- STUDIES IN THE FIELD AND FOREST. .

portion of that bounty, which heaven has lent us only
for our using, and which can never prove our blessing,
untess we make a kind and benevolent disposal of it,
to those who are in suffering and want?

I must not omit to enumerate, among the various
attractions of winter, the frostwork on the windows,
the apt emblem of the romantic hopes of our early
youth. All vegetation in summer presents not the va-
riety of forms which we may behold in these beautiful
configurations upon the windowglass. The mornings
which are most remarkable for this curious pencil work
of nature, are such as follow a very cold and still night,
after mild and thawing weather on the preceding day.
When a boy, I used to delight in watching these frost-
pictures, ere I arose in the morning, and felt no less
pleasure in the sight than I have since found in the
more magnificent scenes of nature. Nothing in the
world seems so: much like the work of enchantment;
and it is not surprising that people of all ages have
imagined that the elements were inhabited by spirits,
whose supernatural skill would account for those num-
berless beauties which attract the sight, in the least, as
well as in the greatest operations of the invisible artist.

Another remarkable appearance occasionally observed
in the woods in winter, is caused by showers of misty
rain, succeeding a very cold day, and followed by
another equally cold. These fantastic exhibitions, de-
pending on a peculiar train of circumstances for their
origin, do not occur every year. As the rain descends
in fine vaporous particles, the frost that is imbedded in
the twigs and branches of the trees, causes the rain to
congeal about them, until they are covered with an in-
crustation of ice. The weather during the descent of
this fine rain, must be as cold as possible, without freez-

FEBRUARY. 35

ing it on its passage. The crystals thus formed around
the twigs, and the icicles hanging by thousands from
the buds and extremities of the branches, form so many
prisms, which by refracting the rays of the sun, as they
gleam through the trees, present all the colors of the
rainbow, and like the beads in a kaleidoscope, yield a
new combination of forms and hues, with every change
in the position of the beholder.

When the sun is bright, and the air is sufficiently
cold to prevent the melting of the icicles, and a gentle
wind is blowing, the twigs are kept in constant agita-
tion, sparkling like the gems in the fringe and tassels of
a chandelier. A spectacle so beautiful amidst the deso-
lation of winter scenery, becomes immediately attrac-
tive to every beholder. When the trees are full of blos-
soms, though more interesting to the true lover of nature,
they have less of that glittering splendor which is more
productive of the mere physical sensation of beauty.

These incrustations of the forest, unless they overload
and break down the trees, are not unproductive of ben-
efit. By their weight and brittleness they cause the
greater part of the dry and rotten twigs to break off
and fall to the ground. Hence they may be regarded
as so many pruning instruments, provided by nature,
for the purpose of separating the decayed and useless
branches from the tree, and other substances which are
an impediment to its growth. While the sound twigs
are enabled by their elasticity to yield to the force of
the winds, the dry twigs snap off with the icicles as
often as they are shaken by the breeze. After one of
these operations of nature, you may find large quanti-
ties of little dry branches lying under the trees, as
thickly spread as the fallen leaves in November. ‘These
incrustations produce another beneficial effect upon the

36 STUDIES IN THE FIELD AND FOREST.

trees, by pealing off the dry bark and lichens to which
they adhere, thus acting as the scraper of the orchardist.
After this, the farmers predict an abundant harvest of
‘fruit; and the thorough pruning and scraping thus per-
formed for the trees, undoubtedly contributes to this
effect.

But while descanting upon the appearances of nature
during the present season, we are reminded of the
pleasures of the domestic fireside. All such enjoyments
are intimately associated with rural recreations; and it
seems to me that he alone who possesses that humble
mind and unvitiated taste which enables him to enjoy
the spectacle of beauty and sublimity that is opened in
the landscape, is fitted for the full enjoyment of the
pleasures of the social hearth. Both of these recrea-
tions are alike innocent and invigorating to the mind
and the health. Above all other kinds of pleasures are
they unattended by any degrading and corrupting cir-
cumstances. Such are the blessings which a beneficent
providence has reserved for the humble and intelligent
poor. While the fashionable and the vain are striving
after unattainable happiness in the gay saloon, or gaz-
ing at costly pictures in a gallery of paintings, the
poor man is enjoying a little heaven in his own family
circle, or gazing upon that noble picture presented by
nature, — the handiwork of the Deity, who sits in-the
heavens, and makes the earth show forth the wonders
of his skill. .

At present, when the wintry winds are lurking around
our dwellings, and the tempest is lying in ambush under
the clouded horizon, let us who live in comfort and
security, and have wherewithal we may benefit our
neighbors, not forget those who are borne down by
poverty. This is the time when all the hardships of

FEBRUARY. 37

the poor are peculiarly distressing; when even the hon-
est poor may be driven to desperation, and constrained
to become disobedient to the moral law, because their
fellow men have been unmindful of the law of charity.
Miserable is the man whose heart is so hard that he
thinks not nor cares not for these sufferers. The self-
ishness of such a man is to him an unceasing draught
of bitterness; while the benevolence of the charitable
man kindles a flame within his breast that warms his
whole soul with a glow of satisfaction, and guides
him at all times and seasons, into the paths of virtue
and happiness.

To all whose minds have received an_ ordinary
amount of cultivation, there are few objects more inter-
esting than the remains of antiquity, — whether, like
those of Greece and Rome, they call up the history
of the noblest works of art and deeds of renown, or
like those of Egypt, they carry back the mind to the
age of primeval superstition, or like the ruins of the
earth itself, they read the story of the antediluvian
periods, before the present races of animals were
created. In our own country where these relics of
ancient times, excepting those of a geological descrip-
tion, are almost unknown, the people in general can
hardly sympathize with that love of ruins, which is
almost a passion with some of the inhabitants of the
Old World. We have no ruined castles to remind us
of ancient baronial splendor, and of the perils and hero-
ism of the feudal ages; no remains of gorgeous temples
or triumphal arches, to record the deeds of a past gen-
eration. The ancient history of this continent lives
chiefly in tradition; and the traveller, who happens to
discover one of the few relics of ancient American
architecture, seeks in vain for any record that will
explain its character or design.

RUINS. 39

Yet the absence of the ruins of:antiquity may have
a tendency to render our people more alive to impres-
sions from those of a more humble description and of
recent origin which abound in all places. When stroll-
ing over the scenes of our own land, who has not often
stopped to ponder over the ruins of some old dwelling-
house, and to bring before the mind the possible his-
tory of its inmates? Here we perceive the completion
of a domestic romance. A series of adventures has
been there commenced, continued, and brought to an
end. Imagination is free to indulge itself in making
up the history of the human beings who have lived and
died there, and of the romantic adventures which have
there been enacted. We do not always endeavor to
read this history ; but there is a shadowy conception of
something connected with the old crumbling walls that
would be striking and romantic. To this pleasing oc-
cupation of the fancy may undoubtedly be ascribed a
portion of the interest always excited by a view of a
ruined or deserted house. A still deeper effect is pro-
duced by the sight of a mouldering temple, or a ruined
castle, which are associated with deeds and events of
greater magnitude.

[am disposed to attribute the pleasure arising from
_ the contemplation of ruins to a truly noble affection of
the human soul, to a veneration of the past, and to a
longing to recover the story of bygone ages. A ruin
is delightful as the scene of some old tradition, a speci-
men of ancient art and magnificence, and as evidence
of the truth of history. Nothing, indeed, serves to place
so vividly before the mind the picture of any historic
event as the ivied and dilapidated walls of the building
in which it occurred. There is likewise an emotion of
cheerful melancholy which is awakened by viewing a

40 STUDIES IN THE FIELD AND FOREST.

pile of ruins, an old house or an old church, venerable
with the mosses of time and decay. There are other
objects, scenes, and situations that produce similar
effects upon the mind, such as a sight of the ocean when
agitated by a tempest, from a place of security. A
beacon and a light-house belong to the same class of
objects; and above all, a monument by the sea-shore,
erected to commemorate some remarkable shipwreck,
awakens a train of melancholy reflections nearly allied
to the sentiment of ruins. But it is not every scene of
ruins that is capable of yielding pleasure to the be-
holder. There is nothing agreeable in a view of the
embers of a wide conflagration, except the gratification
of the curiosity. Such ‘a spectacle brings to the mind
only the idea of destruction and misfortune, which is
painful, and there is nothing connected with it to awaken
any counteracting sentiment. On the other hand, every
mind is agreeably affected by the sight of an old house,
no longer the habitation of man, serving only as the
day retreat of the owl, and the fancied residence of
beings of the invisible world. There is a propensity
among men to associate every ruined edifice, however
great or humble, with some romance or superstition;
and our own people, who have no magnificent ruins,
indulge the sentiment which is awakened by them, in
their legends of haunted houses, and by identifying
these superstitions with every deserted habitation.

It is worthy of remark that although a cottage is
more poetical than a palace, when each is in a perfect
condition —a ruined palace is more poetical than a
ruined cottage. A certain amount of grandeur must
be associated with a ruin to render it very effective.
After a family have deserted their habitation of luxury
and splendor, when they themzelves have gone down to

RUINS. 41

the grave, and their old mansion is crumbling with the
ravages of time, we lose all that invidious feeling which
often prevents us from sympathizing with the wealthy
when they are living. They are now on a level with
the humblest cottagers, and we look upon their ruined
abode with a feeling of regret for all the elegance and
greatness that have passed away. Indeed, the more
noble and magnificent the edifice in its original state,
the deeper is the emotion with which we contemplate
its ruins. 'This circumstance yields a singular charm to
the remains of the ancient Grecian temples, and to
those Gothic castles, that add such a romantic character
to certain European landscapes.

Some of the interesting accompaniments of a ruined
building are the plants which are found clustering
around its old roof and walls. Nature always deco-
rates what time has destroyed, and when the ornaments
of art have crumbled, she rears in their place garlands
from her-own wilds, and the building, no longer beau-
tiful, is adorned with the greenness of vegetation.
Hence certain plants have become intimately allied
with ruins, and derive from this alliance a peculiarly
romantic interest. Such are the mosses and lichens,
the evergreen ferns, the creeper, and the most of the
saxatile plants in America; and in Europe, the yellow
wall-flower, the chenopody, and the ivy.

Jn every ruin, therefore, we see the commencement of
a new and beautiful creation. When a tree has fallen
and has begun to decay, an infinite host of curious and
delicate plants, of the simplest vegetable forms, are fos-
tered upon the surface of its trunk. Mushrooms of
every description spring out from the inner bark, and
lichens and mosses, as various in their hues as they are
delicate in their forms, decorate all the outside. Insects

4 *

42 STUDIES IN THE FIELD AND FOREST.

which, under the magnifying glass, exhibit the various
plumes and glittering ornaments of the most brilliant
birds and butterflies, live under the protection of these
minute plants, as the larger animals find shelter in a
forest of trees. When the timber has entirely perished,
and has become assimilated with the soil, other hosts
of plants of a higher order take the place of the former,
until new forests have reared their branches over the
ruins of those of a preceding age. Rocks, continents, and
worlds are subject to the same decay, and the same ulti-
mate renovation. Thus the whole system of the uni-
verse is but an infinite series of permutations and com-
binations, all the atoms, amidst apparent chaos, moving
in the most mathematical order, and gradually resolving
themselves into organized forms, infinite in their num-
bers and arrangements.

In this country we have no classic ruins. The relics
of the ancient structures of the aborigines can hardly
awaken a romantic sentiment. We cannot associate
with them any agreeable historic reminiscences. We
behold in them only the evidences of savage customs,
unformed art, and a miserable superstition, which afford
nothing to admire. No scenes are so well fitted as the
ruins of a great and civilized nation, to inspire the
mind with that contemplative habit which is the foun-
dation of the poetical character. They fill the soul
with noble conceptions, and serve to divert the thoughts
from a consideration of mere personal interest, and turn
them back upon the ages of chivalry and romance.

Nature has so constituted the mind as to enable it to
convert all her scenes, under certain circumstances, into
sources of pleasure. It is not the beautiful alone that
affords these agreeable impressions ; nor is it the cheer-
ful scenes only among natural or artificial objects that

RUINS. 43

inspire a pleasing sentiment. While contemplating a
scene of ruins, the mind may have glimpses of truths
which are not revealed to us in the lessons of philoso-
phy, and which excite indefinite hopes amidst apparent
desolation. It is our power of deriving pleasure from
these inexplicable sources that gives a pile of ruins half
its charms. This mingled sentiment of hope and mel-
ancholy combines with almost all our ideas of beauty.
Ou this account a deserted house interests the mind
more than a splendid villa in its perfect’ condition; and
a plain, overspread with classic ruins, more than a pros-
pect of green meadows and highly ornamented gardens.
It would be idle to assert that the human soul would
take satisfaction in contemplating an object that is sug-
gestive of.its own dissolution. This love of ruins
ought rather to be considered as so much evidence com-
ing from them in favor of the infinite duration of the
universe. They are evidence of the great age of the
earth, and proof of its destination to exist during count-
less ages of the future. J wonder that our theologians
have never deduced from this love of ruins, which is so
universal, an argument for the immortality of the soul.
It is evident that we do not instinctively regard them
as proofs of mortality: but while we see in them the
subjection of material forms to those changes which
belong to every thing that is mortal, we look upon our
own souls as lifted above any liability to these changes.
Did we innately perceive in them proof that the mind
that constructed these wonderful works of art, perished
with them, we should turn away from them with a deep
despondency, and endeavor to hide them from our sight.
By a similar course of reasoning we may account for
the pleasure which is experienced by musing among the
tombs. ‘

44 STUDIES IN THE FIELD AND FOREST.

The scenes in our own land which are most nearly
allied to ruins are the ancient rocks that gird our shores
and give variety to our landscapes. They are, in fact,
the ruins of an ancient world, existing probably before
the human race had made their abode here. In these
rocks the frosts of thousands of winters, and the light-
nings of as many summers have made numerous fis-
sures, and split them asunder in many places. We
find the same species of saxatile and parasitic plants
clustering about them which are found among the ruins
of art. The forest trees have inserted their roots into
their crevices, and oaks that have stood for centuries
nod their heads over the brink of these precipices, and
cast a gloomier shade into the valleys below. Nothing
can be more affecting than some of these ruins of
nature, that want only the historical associations con-
nected with the ruins of temples and palaces, to render
them equally interesting.

Man’s natural love of mystery, and his proneness to
indulge in that emotion of grandeur and infinity that
flows from the sight of any thing involved in the dim-
ness of remote ages of the past, are one cause of the
intense interest felt in the study of geology. Witha
deep feeling of awe we trace the footprints of those-un-
known animals which were the denizens of a former
world. The mind “is roused to profound contempla-
tion at the sight of piles of rocks as high as the clouds,
recumbent on a bed of fern, and at finding the remains
of animals that once sported on the summits of other
Alps, now buried beneath the very base and foundation
of ours.”

Ir is not necessary that an object should be intrinsi-
cally beautiful, like a collection of water, to add a pleas-
ing feature to the landscape. Though rocks, consid-
ered apart from nature, are unsightly objects, yet no
scenery can be complete without them. To a prospect,
they afford a variety which it would be difficult to. ob-
tain from any other objects. Without thern there is a
want of those sudden transitions from the smooth to
the rough, from the level to the precipitous, from the
beautiful to the wild, and from the tame to the expres-
sive, which are essential to a perfect landscape. It is
only among rocks that the evergreen ferns — those beau-
tiful accompaniments of a rustic retreat—are found
growing abundantly. There is no more beautiful sight
than a series of almost perpendicular rocks, covered on
all sides by ferns, with their peculiarly graceful foliage,
and here and there a rill trickling down their sides, and
forming channels through the evergreen mosses. The
solitary glens formed by these rocks could not be imi-
tated by any thing else; and their jutting precipices
afford prospects unequalled by the gentle elevations in
a rolling landscape. In a country where rocks are

46 STUDIES IN THE FIELD AND FOREST.

wanting, the land rises and sinks in gradual declivities,
and prospects are difficult to be obtained except from
lofty elevations.

There is so much that is attractive in the abruptness
of a rocky landscape, especially when covered with
trees and other vegetation, that many authors have at-

_tributed their picturesque character to this radeness and
abruptness. I am inclined, on the other hand, to at-
tribute this interesting expression to the manifest facility
which these abrupt situations afford, not only for pros-
pect, but also for pleasant secluded retreats. Large
clefts, produced by the parting of the two sides of an
enormous rock, furnish dells, often in themselves perfect
gardens of wild flowers, bursting on the sight like an
oasis in the middle of a rude waste. In these places
there is always a remarkable verdure, as the rains that
wash down their slopes conduct fertility to the soil at
their base. A rocky landscape is always productive of
a greater variety of flowers and shrubs than a plain or
rolling country of similar soil and climate.

There are many plants whose native localities are the
tops and sides of rocky cliffs and precipices. Such are
the saxifrage, the cistus, the toad-flax, and the beautiful
pedate violet. The graceful Canadian columbine is
found mostly among the clefts of rocks, where, like a
little tender animal, it nestles under their protection,
and draws nourishment from the soil that has accumu-
lated about the mossy knolls where it has taken root.
To satisfy ourselves of the number and variety of plants
that may grow spontaneously upon a single rock, let us
construct one in fancy, thus enamelled by the hand of
nature.

We will picture to ourselves a craggy precipice rising
thirty or forty feet out of a wet meadow, and forming,

ROCKS. 47

in its irregular ascent, several oblique and perpendicular
sides, whose summits have collected several inches of
soil upon their surface. A growth of pines and birches
covers its summit, together with various shrubs, such as
the whortleberry, the wood-pyrus, the spirea, and the
mountain andromeda. Here, too, the Dutch myrtle and
the sweet fern mingle their fragrance with the terebin-
thine odors of the pines. The rocks, in the dryest situ-
ations, are covered with a bedding of gray liverwort,
which is a perfect hygrometer, breaking like glass under
our footsteps, when the atmosphere is dry, but yielding
like velvet, when it contains the least moisture. The
cup-moss grows abundantly along with it, and, in
moister situations, the green delicate hair-moss, which:
is the same that covers the roofs of very old buildings..
The rain has washed down from the summit constant
deposits from trees and shrubs, birds and quadrupeds,.
and formed a superficies of good soil on all parts of the:
rock where it could be retained. On the almost bare
surface grows the beautiful feather grass, with its nod-
ding plumes of purple flowers, supported only by the:
soil that has accumulated about its roots.

The mountain laurel luxuriates upon these naturali
terraces, of irregular size, by which we descend to the:
meadow at the base of the rock. But the mountain.
laurel, with its magnificent clusters of flowers, is not
the most attractive object; for the little springs that
issue from the crevices of the rock have called out a
great variety of ferns and lycopodies, that cover its.
sides with their green foliage, like the tiles on the roof’
of a house. Some gnarled oaks and graceful beeches.
project from the sides of the cliff which is covered with
innumerable vines. Besides the beautiful things that
cluster at our feet, and the little winged inhabitants

48 STUDIES IN THE FIELD AND FOREST.

natural to the situation, made attractive by their varied
forms, colors, and motions, this rock gives additional ex-
tent to the prospect of the surrounding country, and
affords one many different views from the various open-
ings through its wood and shrubbery.

Such are the beauties and advantages multiplied
about a mere rock. But in my description I have
omitted to notice the grotto formed by the shelving of
rocks, and so delightful to the traveller who seeks shel-
ter from the sultry heat of noon, or to one who aims
only to gratify a poetic imagination. Rocky scenery
always suggests to the mind the various scenes and in-
cidents of romantic adventure; and [J believe the diff-
culties and dangers it presents to the traveller magnify
the interest of the situation. I have often seen a whole
party affected with an eager desire to obtain possession
of a Hower that was growing out of the summit of a
rocky cliff. Each one would feel a similar desire to
climb upon its sides and to obtain a resting-place upon
its dangerous summit. All these circumstances, which
in real nature stimulate the adventurous spirit, become
picturesque when represented on canvas, by affording
the same kind of stimulus to the imagination of the
beholder. Hence the imaginative as well as the adven-
turous are equally delighted with this kind of scenery,
that arouses the enterprise of the one and awakens the
poetic feelings of the other. What do we care for a
scene, however beautiful, which is so tame as to afford
no exercise for the imagination? Rocks, by increasing
the inequalities of the surface, proportionally multiply
the ideas and images which are associated with land-
scape.

It is not an uninteresting inquiry why a prospect be-
held from a rocky cliff or precipice yields us more

ROCKS. 49

pleasure than the same beheld from an even slope. Is
it the more agreeable when we partake of any such en-
joyments, to be disconnected from the objects immedi-
ately around us? Or when standing upon a rock that
projects from the surface of the ground, may we not
experience an illusive feeling of elevation? In the
town of Beverly are many grand and delightful. views
of the ocean, from different points on. the neighboring:
hills and eminences. Some of these views are proba-
bly unsurpassed by the coast scenery in any part of the
country. I have repeatedly observed that parties of
pleasure, when making an excursion among these hills,.
are not satisfied with a view of the ocean and land-
scape, until they have beheld them from some elevated
or projecting rock. There is probably a poetic feeling
of isolation attending us when standing upon a rock,
that inereases those emotions, whether of beauty or
sublimity, which are excited by the prospect.

Any one who has rambled over the bald hills that
bourid almost the whole northern shore of Massachu-
setts Bay, can bear witness to the power of these land-.
scapes to magnify those sublime einotions that come
from the aspect of desolation. They are felt, in these
places, unaccompanied by that profound melancholy
which must ever attend us when contemplating a wide:
scene of ruins. Here the appearance of desolation is
sufficient to awaken a deep emotion of sublimity; but
while surrounded with so many evidences of a fertile:
and prosperous country, we are equally affected with a
sense of cheerful exaltation. I doubt whether the most
beautiful garden in Europe would afford so much of’
-the luxury of mental emotion, as a ramble over these:
bald hills affords to one whose mind is properly attuned:
for such enjoyments. It is evident that the hills with-

5

50 STUDIES IN THE FIELD AND FOREST.

out the rocks would be destitute of the feature that
yields them their principal charm. From the sight of
the rocks also comes that feeling of alliance with past
ages of the world, which tends greatly to elevate the
mind with sentiments of grandeur.

The New England stonewall, as a portion of land-
scape scenery, is generally considered a deformity.
Still it cannot be denied that the same lines of wooden
fence would mar the beauty of the landscape a great
deal more. On account of the loose manner in which
the stones are piled one upon another, as well as the
character of the materials, this wall harmonizes with
the general aspect of nature more agreeably than any
kind of wood-work or masonry. It seems to me less
of a deformity than a hedge or any other kind of a
fence, except in highly cultivated and ornamented
grounds. In wild pastures and lands devoted to com-
mon agricultural purposes, the stonewall is the least
exceptionable of any boundary mark that has yet been
invented. A hedge in such places would present to the
eye an intolerable formality.

One of the charms of the stonewall is the manifest
ease with which it may be overleaped: it menaces no
infringement upon our liberty. When we look abroad
upon a landscape subdivided only by these long lines
of loose stones, we feel no sense of constraint: the
whole boundless range as well as prospect is ours. An
appearance that cherishes this feeling of liberty is es-
sential to the beauty of a landscape; for no man can
thoroughly enjoy a scene from which he is excluded.
Imagine to what extent the peculiar beauty of the
ocean would be marred, if certain portions were in-
closed by a fence for the exclusive advantage of some
proprietor! Fences are deformities of prospect which

ROCKS. ol

we are obliged to use and to tolerate; but of these the
stonewall is one of the least exceptionable, inasmuch
as it harmonizes with nature, and is expressive of that
freedom which it affords to the traveller and the ram-
bler.

Tt may be remarked that no inconsiderable share of
the interest added to a prospect by the presence of
rocks, arises from their connection with the history of
past ages of the world. They are indeed the monu-
ments of the antediluvian ages, and no man who is
acquainted with the commonly received geological facts,
when wandering among these relics of the mysterious
past, can fail to be inspired with those emotions of
sublimity, which proceed no less from the wonders of
science than from the bolder creations of poetry.

VIII.

OLD ROADS.

I cannot say that Iam an admirer of what are com-
monly termed improvements, and seldom observe them
without a feeling of regret, except in the very depth of
the wilderness. More of the beauty of landscape is de-
stroyed every year by attempts to beautify it, than by
the ignorant woodman who cuts down his trees for the
railroad or the ship-yard. There is a certain kind of
beauty which ought to be cherished by the people of
every land; but this should be done for the sake of the
pleasure derived from the objects that produce it. As
soon as we begin to cultivate a garden, or ornament a
house or an inclosure, with the hope of dazzling the
public eye, at that moment the spell is broken, and all
the enchantment vanishes. There is something exceed-
ingly delightful in the ornaments that have risen up
spontaneously in those grounds, which, after they were
once reduced to tillage, have been left for many years,
in the primitive hands of nature. Vain are all our at-
tempts to imitate these indescribable beauties, such as
we find along the borders of an old rustic farm, by an
old road-side, or a pasture that is overgrown with spon-
taneous shrubbery.

OLD ROADS. 53

This kind of scenery is common in almost all those
old roads which are not used as thoroughfares, but as
avenues of communication between our small country
villages. Our land is full of these rustic by-ways;
and the rude scenery about them is more charming to
my sight than the most highly ornamented landscapes
which have been dressed by the hand of art. A part
of their charm arises, undoubtedly, from their associa-
tion in our minds, with the simplicity of habits that
prevails among our rural population. But this is not
all. I believe it arises chiefly from the absence of al-
most all decoration, save that which nature has planted
with her own hands. Wherever we see a profusion of
ornaments introduced by art, though they consist en-
tirely of natural objects, we no longer feel the presence
of nature’s highest charm. Something very analogous
to sunshine is shut out. The rural deities do not dwell
there, and cannot inspire us with a fulness of satisfac-
tion. It is difficult to.explain the mystery; but when I
am rambling the fields, or travelling over one of these
old roads, with that sort of quiet rapture, with which
we drift along in a boat, down a narrow stream, through
the green woods in summer, — the very first highly arti-
ficial object I encounter which bears evidence of being
put up for exhibition, dissolves the spell,—and I feel,
all at once, as if I had stept out of Paradise, into the
land of worldlings and all their sordid vanities.

The beauty of these old roads does not consist in
their crookedness, though it cannot be denied that this
quality prevents their being tiresome, and adds variety
to our prospect, by constantly changing our position.
Neither does their beauty consist in their narrowness,
though it will be admitted that this quality contributes
to their pleasantness, by bringing their bushy side-walks

5 *

ot STUDIES IN THE FIELD AND FOREST.

nearer together. Their principal charm consists in the
character of their road sides, now overgrown with all
that blended variety of herbs and shrubbery which we
encounter in a wild pasture. We hear a great deal of
‘complaint of these old roads, because they are crooked
and narrow, and because our ancestors did not plant
them with trees. But trees have grown up spontane-
‘ously in many places, sometimes fortning knolls and
-coppices of inimitable beauty; and often an irregular
row of trees and shrubs, of different species, adds a
‘pleasing variety to the scenes.

And how much more delightful is a ride or a stroll
through one of these old roads, than through the most
highly ornamented suburbs of our cities, with their
‘streets of more convenient width. The very neglect
to which they have been left, on account of the small
amount of travelling over them, has caused numberless
beauties to spring up in their borders. In these places
nature seems to have regained her sovereignty. ‘The
squirrel runs freely along the walls, and the hare may
be seen peeping timidly out of her burrow at their
foundation, or leaping across the street. The hazel
bushes often form a sort of natural hedge-row, for whole
furlongs; and the sparrow and the robin, and even some
of the less familiar birds, build their nests in the green
thickets of barberries, viburnums, cornels, and whortle-
berry bushes, that grow in irregular rows and tufts
along the rough and varied embankments.

Near these old roads sve seldom meet an artificial
object that is made disagreeable by its manifest preten-
sions. Little one-story cottages are frequent with their
green slope in front, and a maple or an elm that affords
them shelter and shade. The old stonewall festooned
with wild grape-vines, comes close up to their in-

OLD ROADS. 50

closures; and on one side of the house the garden is
seen with its unpretending neatness, its few moruning-
glories, trained up against the walls, its beds of scarlet
runners, reared upon trellises, formed of the bended
branches of the white birch, driven into the soil; its
few rose-bushes of those beautiful kinds which have
long been naturalized in our gardens ;— when I bebold
these objects, in their Arcadian simplicity, I lose all
faith in the magnificent splendors of princely gardens.
I feel persuaded that in these humble scenes exists the
highest kind of beauty; and that he is the happiest
man who cares for no more embellishments than his
own rustic family have added to the simple charms of
nature.
Let us, therefore, carefully preserve these ancient
winding roads, with all their primitive eccentricities.
Let no modern vandalism, misnamed public economy,
deprive the traveller of their pleasant advantages, by
stopping up their beautiful curves, and building shorter
cuts for economizing distance. Who that is journeying
for pleasure is not delighted with them, as they pass on
through pleasant valleys, under the brows of hills,
along the banks of green rivers, or the borders of silvery
lakes; now half way up some gentle eminence that
commands a view of a neighboring village, or winding
round a hill, and giving us a back view of the scenes
we have just passed. They are no niggardly econo-
mists of time; but they seem as if purposely contrived
to present to the eye of the traveller every thing, that
renders the country desirable to the sight; now leading
us over miles bounded by old grey stonewalls, half
covered with sweet briars, viburnums, and golden rods;
then again through fragrant woods, under the brink of
precipices, nodding with wild shrubbery, and seeming

06 STUDIES IN THE FIELD AND FOREST.

to emulate the capricious windings of the stream, in its
blue course among the hills. How pleasant when jour-
neyiug, to enter a village by one of these gentle sweeps
that gives one several glimpses of its scenes, in differ-
ent aspects, before our arrival. How much indeed
would be done for us by nature, if we did not in con-
formity with certain notions of improvement, constantly
check her spontaneous efforts to cover the land with
beauty.

To the inhabitants of a variable climate like our own,
the weather is at all times one of the most interesting
themes of speculation: but at no period of the year
does it come more directly home to our feelings than in
March. We know that there is a new sign in the
heavens, and the altitude of the sun in his meridian
seems plainly to assure us of the comforts of the ver-
nal season. But the aspect of the heavens is constantly
changing, the winds ever veering, clouds alternating
with sunshine, wind with calm, and rain with snow, so
that we are never sure, on a bland morning in March,
when the sun is shining almost with the fervor of sum-
mer, that we may not be overtaken by a snow-storm be-
fore noonday, or the cold of the arctic circle before sun-
set. Any one of the three winter months, though sel-
dom otherwise than cold and stormy, may once ina
few years be mild and pleasant from beginning to end:
but March preserves the same variable and boisterous
weather from year to year; and is the only month when
day’s harbingers never fulfil their promises ; when the
rosy-bosomed hours, that come up with the morning,
and the fair sisters, that weave the garlands of evening,
are all deceivers.

58 STUDIES IN THE FIELD AND FOREST.

Though the present time is nominally the spring of
the year, as yet there is not a flower in the fields or gar-
dens, and the buds of the trees are hardly swollen with
waking vegetation. The wild flowers are still buried
under the snows and ices of winter, and the grass has
begun to look green only under the southern protection
of the walls and fences. Many of the early birds, fol-
lowing the southerly winds that occasionally prevail for
a few days, and tempted by the bright sunshine of the
season, have arrived from their winter haunts, and sing
and chirp alternately, as if they were debating whether
to remain here, or to return to a more genial clime. It
is a singular instinct that prompts so many species of
birds to leave their pleasant abiding places at the south,
where every agreeable condition of climate, shelter, and
provision for their wants is present, and press onward
into the northern regions, before the rigors of winter
have been subdued, and while they are still liable to
perish with cold or starvation. Often with anxious
compassion have I watched these little bewildered song-
sters, who have so unseasonably returned from the re-
gion of perpetual summer, when after commencing
their morning lays, as if they believed the vernal prom-
ises of dawn, they were obliged to flee into the depths
of the woods, to find a shelter from the driving snow-
storm.

It may seem remarkable that, before vegetation has
awakened, there should be a resuscitation of some of
the insect tribes. But in warm, sheltered situations
many sinall flies may be seen, either newly hatched, or
revived by the heat of the sun. They do not seek food,
but-crawl about in dry places, sometimes rising into the
air, and drowsily and awkwardly exercising their wings.
So exposed is this class of animated things to the

MARCH. 59

mercy of climate, that nature has made them insus-
ceptible of injury from the severest cold; and many
species, though inclosed in masses of solid ice, may be
revived by gradual heat, and fly abroad as gayly as if
they had only been refreshed by sleep. But the period
of life assigned to insects is very short, and before the
arrival of winter, the brief and joyous life of nearly all
species is terminated, and their offspring in an embryo
state lie torpid until a new spring calls them into a
wakeful existence.

Our climate being a discordant mixture of the weather
of two opposite latitudes, pouring in alternately upon
us, is the most variable and deceitful in the world. Al-
ternating with each other, and crowding out the proper
weather of this temperate latitude, and struggling, as it
were, for the mastery, are two winds, one that sweeps
across the Canadas, and brings hither the cold of the
polar regions; the other that comes from the Gulf of
Mexico, and brings hither the summer breezes of the
tropics. No natural barrier is interposed to check their
progress whenever any climatal influence urges them
onward. The prevalence of a moderate temperature
in this part of the country, during a calm, at all times,
either in spring or autumn, proves this to be the true
weather of our latitude. The north and south winds
are intruders, that spoil the comfort we should otherwise
enjoy in the open air, at all seasons, except the three
months of winter. Our climate may, therefore, not un-
aptly be compared to a village that is peopled by a set
of quiet and peaceable inhabitants, but is visited by
troublesome people from the adjoining villages, who,
by their quarrels with each other, keep it in a constant
uproar, leaving the villagers only an occasional respite
during their absence, when all again is quiet.

60 STUDIES IN THE FIELD AND FOREST.

Hence if we have cold in March, it is a cold that will
soon be succeeded by heat; if we have clouds, the
darkness they bring will soon be succeeded by sunshine.
We see none of those melancholy clouds, so common
in the latter part of autumn, that remain for weeks
brooding over the landscape, as if the heavens were
hung in mourning for the departure of summer: none
of that ominous darkness in the glens and the valleys,
denoting that the sun has at length quietly surrendered
to the frosty conqueror of the earth. Though March is
colder, it has more light than November. The sun is
daily increasing in power, and the snow that still re-
mains on the earth renders the effect of his rays more
brilliant and animating. The clouds at this season are
seldom motionless; they are borne along rapidly by the
brisk winds, now enveloping the landscape in gloom,
then suddenly illuminating it with sunshine, and caus-
ing that constant play of light and shade which is pe-
culiar to the early spring.

In March, we are not without occasional days of
agreeable serenity ; and at such times we begin to look
about us, among the sheltered retreats in the woods
and mountains, to watch the earliest budding of vege-
tation. Sometimes in the latter part of the month, un-
der the slope of a hill that faces the meridian sun, and
is sheltered by surrounding woods, we may discover the
delicate blossoms of the ground laurel (epigea repens),
and within the edge of the woods a few flowers of the
early anemone (hepatica triloba). But these flowers,
so early in the season, denote an unusual state of for-
wardness, and seldom make their appearance until after
the middle of April. At such times, while sauntering
about the fields, rejoicing in what seems to be the
actual return of spring, the fierce north wind commences

MARCH. 61

his raging anew, drives one home by his attacks, and
ere another morning arrives, the birds lie concealed
in the depths of the woods, whither they have been
driven by a snow-storm, and all hearts are again sad-
dened by the universal aspect of winter.

The change that has taken place in the appearance:
of the sun at his rising, since the opening of this month,.
may be regarded as one of the usual indications of the
reviving spring. The atmosphere, on clear mornings, is-
more heavily loaded with vapors than is usual at the
same hour in winter. The exhalations of the preceding
day have been descending in frosty dews by night upon
the plains, and seem to be gathered thickly about the:
horizon, and yield to the first beams of the sun a tint
of purple and violet, like the dawn of a summer morn--
ing. The sun, in midwinter, when there are no vapors
resting on the lakes and meadows, the cold winds
having frozen every source of exhaling moisture, rises
suddenly into a pure, transparent atmosphere. But as
spring advances, and the sun rises higher into the zenith,
the evaporation increases, the atmosphere, in the morn-
ing, becomes charged with prismatic vapors, and every
mead and valley is crowned at sunrise with wreaths of’
mist, adorned with the hues of the rainbow. Hence
the crimson haze that accompanies the dawn, denotes.
that the icy fountains are unlocked, and that the lakes.
and rivulets are again pouring out their dewy offerings.
to the skies.

March is an unpleasant month for the rambler..
There is but little comfort abroad, either for the feet
upon the ground we tread, or for our sensations in the
air we breathe. Still I would not relinquish my walks,.
except in storms or the severest cold. There is an in-
terest in roaming abroad at this time, though it be our

62 STUDIES IN THE FIELD AND FOREST.

object but to watch the breaking up of the ices, and to
mark the progress of the thousand new made rivulets,
that leap down the snowy mountains towards the grand
reservoir of waters. And there are places always to be
found which are inviting to the solitary pedestrian,
during the most uncomfortable seasons; on the sunny
slope of a chain of bills, or the southern border of a
wood, or under the banks of the seaside, where the
high bluffs protect one from the winds, and the sandy
beach affords a dry and agreeable promenade.

Though the fields at this time afford to the mere vir-
tuoso but few inducements for his researches, yet the
treasures of the sea-shore are as abundant as at any
other season. The collector of shells would find no
great variety of rare specimens on our New England
‘coast; but there are objects everywhere to be found
which are interesting and beautiful. It is not, however,
for the sole purpose of collecting curiosities to enrich
the variety of one’s cabinet, that the true lover of nature
would visit her walks, in field and forest, or by the sea-
shore. Almost all nature’s beautiful productions lose
their charms in my sight, as soon as they are removed
from her domains. I love to view them in connection
with those scenes for whose embellishment they were
evidently created ; and a garden filled with the fairest
flowers of all climes soon teenwalishids upon my sight, that
views with rapture a solitary violet, blooming under the
shelter of mosses, or a primrose on a barren plain, sur-
rounded by sedges and wild indigo. Every object be-
comes more charming when associated with some agree-
able rural sentiment. Jt is for this reason that a hum-
ble and solitary cottage in the wilderness is a more
interesting object than all the courtly splendor of a
city. :

MARCIL 63

People who have always lived in the interior of the
country, can have but little conception of the pleasure
of a seaside ramble, which is, during this month, when
the sharp west winds prevail more than from any other
quarter, particularly pleasant. Among the lakes and
rivers, and hills and valleys of an interior landscape,
though there may be found an endless variety of pas-
toral beauty, yet there is nothing that will compare with
the sublimity and extent of a water prospect on the
banks of the sea. Neither can such a view be fully
appreciated by those who have beheld it only from the
harbor of a large city, where so many of the works of
art cover and conceal its native magnificence, and with-
draw the mind from those solemn but cheerful contem-
plations that would otherwise be awakened by the
scene. We must go forth upon the solitary shores, at
a distance from the town, and walk upon the high bluffs
that project far enough into the sea to afford sight of a
complete hemisphere of waters, to obtain a just idea
of a sea prospect. When we look from the deck of a
sailing ship, where nothing on all sides is to be seen ex-
cept the ocean, bounded by the circle that seems to,
divide the dark blue of the waters from the more ethe-
real azure of the skies, — while contemplating such a
scene, our emotions, though sublime and solemn, are
not agreeable. But when this blue expanse of waters
divides the prospect equally with the landscape, that is
spread out in a luxuriant variety of woodland, plain,
and mountain, as viewed from an elevated promontory,
the emotions excited by the sublimity of the scene, on
the one hand, are softened into tranquil pleasure by the
beauty and loveliness of the opposite prospect.

There is no month which is so apt an emblem as
March, with its constant and unexpected changes of

64 STUDIES IN THE FIELD AND FOREST.

weather, its sunshine and gloom, its winds and calms,
of the vicissitudes of human life. On the present day,
the gales are wafting upon their wings, as the hopes of
youth are borne upon the fancy, all the gay promises of
spring ; to-morrow the cold blasts of winter are pouring
down from the frozen regions of the north, and all the
vernal hopes of yesterday are crowned with disappoint-
ment. Thus on one day of our lives, every circum-
stance seems to promise immediate happiness; the next
upon its arrival, brings nothing but the dismal evidence
of the deceitfulness of those promises. Still in the
midst of all these vicissitudes of climate, there is always
a satisfactory assurance, that the alternations of cold
and heat, gloom and sunshine, will settle down at last
into the general calm of summer, which must, in the
course of nature, soon arrive. And thus while sur-
rounded by the adversities of life, that come upon us
like wintry storms in March, when we are looking for
spring, there is always a hope existing in our minds,
that a tranquil and summer prosperity will erelong
take the ‘place of our present troubles and calamities.

ae

WEATHER SIGNS.

WE are continually surrounded by perils arising from
the changes of the weather; and man has always
looked anxiously up to heaven, with the hope that
some kindly foreboding might be revealed to him from
on high, of the changes that may happen. There are
cycles in the heavens as there are seasons on the earth,
and the former may be calculated with the same pre-
cision as the latter. All periodic changes belong to
these exact calculations; but such as are not periodical,
can never be certainly foreknown, and the aim of the
observer of the weather, is to guess at the principles by
which they are governed, and to learn as much of their
operation as may be calculated by attending to visible
phenomena.

Nature gives intimations of all approaching changes;
but these forewarnings ate so numerous and appertain to
so many elements, that it is difficult to ascertain them,
and to fit them together so as to convey any certain
knowledge to the mind. It is not that nature is varia-
ble in her laws, or in the signs she displays to indicate
the operation of those laws; but in the infinitude of
these combinations, we can seldom read her meaning

6 *

66 STUDIES IN THE FIELD AND FOREST.

with accuracy. She has a written and a spoken lan-
guage, and the misinterpretation of a single word may
reverse the true meaning of her sentences. All the
sounds of the elements, could we interpret them, would
conyey to our minds some palpable ideas of the changes
in the weather; for never is there a change in one of
the elements, but the others give some intimation of it
either to the ear, or to the eye. These mystic words
we can never understand, unless we study them in con-
nection with those written signs which are painted on
the skies, in the forms of the clouds, in the aspects of
the heavenly bodies, in the dews upon the grass, in the
frost upon the trees and windows, and the meteoric
phenomena displayed by day and by night. If we find
that what nature has telegraphed upon the heavens
does not seem to correspond with the minuter signs
which she exhibits upon the dews, the flowers, and
other vegetation, the fault is in our interpretations of her
language:

Let us not despair, however, in our attempts to ac-
quire a knowledge of these signs. By constantly noting
their details, and observing them under all their differ-
ent modes of combination, we may arrive at a degree
of accuracy which may enable us to predict a storm
with as much certainty as we now predict an eclipse.
We are to seek for these signs not merely upon the
heavens and out of doors; for within doors, by our par-
lor fireside or our kitchen hearth, many phenomena are
revealed to us which are as important as the prophetic
clouds upon the sky, or the dews and vapors upon the
plain. When a storm is about to gather over our
heads, the vapor from the boiling water over our kitchen
fires, hastens to join the gathering clouds, and the water
is more rapidly evaporated. This is probably a baro-

WEATHER SIGNS. , 67

“metrical phenomenon ; and a similarly increased evapo-
ration of waters from every existing source may be one
important cause of the rain or snow that follows.
Whatever the state of the atmosphere may be that
causes this more rapid evaporation, it is evident that if
it be universal, it must be followed by an extraordinary
accumulation of moisture which, as soon as an oppo-
site barometrical state of the atmosphere ensues, must
generate clouds and rain.

While from these tumble sources the atmosphere is
gathering a tribute of moisture, which must soon be
restored to some part of the earth, the aspects of nature
do not remain unchanged. These aspects vary with
the season of the year, and also with the prevailing
habit of the weather during that period, whether wet or
dry, cold or hot. When our attention is attracted
within doors to the more rapidly evaporating water, the
weaker draught in the chimney, the peculiar flickering
of the blaze of the lamp, or to any other indoor signals,
we should probably, on looking out of doors, find the
aspect of the heavens assuming a change. If the sky
has been clear, some beautiful collections of cirrus will
be seen assembling in the upper heavens, with their
minute fibres spread out like electrified down. These
fleecy clouds are constantly augmenting, and generally
observe a particular direction in their radiations, corre-
sponding not always with the direction of the wind,
but probably with some current of electricity in the
region where they lie.

When these gossamer clouds have become very gen-
erally diffused, and have arranged themselves in many
beautiful configurations, they will soon begin to suffer a
metamorphosis. The straight diverging fibres that re-
sembled hairs or the feathery portion of a quill, arranged

68 STUDIES IN THE FIELD AND FOREST.

in order on each side of a darker line that passes be-
tween them, will slowly gather themselves into little
rounded heaps, resembling the spots on the back of a
fish. It is this spotted appearance which has caused it
to be named mackerel cloud, by the fishermen. The
cirrus is soon entirely resolved into this mottled cloud,
as if all its filaments had, by some mechanical process,
been twisted into rolls; but it is only by observing the
succeeding phenomena that we can decide whether this
appearance is to be regarded as the precursor of wet
weather. Underneath this dappled cloud there is often
a mass of fleecy vapor that appears to be slowly resolv-
ing itself into the cloud above it. As this vapor is pre-
cipitated from the lower atmosphere, it is attracted by
the cloud above it which is constantly thickening as the
last is slowly incorporated with it. When we observe
this double layer of cloud, we are reassured that the
promises of rain held out by the former appearances,
are likely to be fulfilled. The upper cloud is rendered
more and more dense by reinforcements from this lower
formation, until it assumes the character of huge masses
rolled together in uniform heaps, which are now dis-
tinctly seen moving in the direction of the wind. Rain
soon follows, especially if underneath all this moving
mass, a scud is seen proceeding rapidly in a contrary
direction.

If this mackerel cloud (cirro-cumulus) happens to be
formed during a period of extensive drought, it is soon
absorbed into the upper regions of the atmosphere, and
the skies become clear again, without the promised rain.
This dissolution commonly takes place just after sunset,
commencing at early dew-fall. The clouds are first
formed from the condcnsation of moisture into a visible
shape by the cooling influence of contact with an upper,

WEATHER SIGNS. 69

colder current of air. While the sun continues to shine
upon the earth, a sufficient quantity of moisture is sup-
plied by evaporation from the earth’s surface to keep up
the cloud-forming process. As soon, however, as the
sun begins to decline, this supply of moisture is cut off.
The surrounding air, 6n cooling, deposits all supera-
bundant moisture in the shape of dew, and no more
vapor ascends to complete the organization of the
clouds in the upper air. Hence they are gradually re-
absorbed into the atmosphere by a process which, in
the daytime, was not sufficiently rapid to keep pace
with the reinforcements from beneath.

After the evaporation from the earth has been dimin-
ished by the withdrawal of the sun’s heat and rays, if
the clouds still continue to thicken, there is evidence
that they are receiving supplies from a source indepen-
dent of immediate evaporation from the earth’s surface.
The upper currents of the atmosphere are probably
saturated with moisture which renders it incapable of
absorbing the clouds in contact with it. If, at this con-
juncture, a damp wind from the ocean were to set in
underneath, the clouds between these two damp strata
of air would be constantly gaining density, and would
soon become so heavy as to descend in rain. If the
clouds, therefore, which are formed during the day,
evaporate soon after sunset, we know that they are de-
pendent on immediate supplies of vapor frorn the earth’s
surface; but if they continue to increase after sunset,
there is proof that the atmosphere above and below
them is saturated with moisture, and rain will be likely
to follow.

When all these conditions are present, the lower ani-
mals are instigated to perform certain unusual actions
and to make a temporary suspension of their usual

70 STUDIES IN THE FIELD AND FOREST.

habits. These habits of birds, insects, and other ani-
mals, however, may often avail us as weather signs,
before any atmospheric changes have become percepti-
ble to us. But these creatures are not to be regarded
as prophets. Man only prophesies by observing the
connection between their actions and the weather that
follows. The tree-frog that from the old oak utters his
signal cries, enables us to prognosticate a shower, of
which he knows nothing. He feels the agreeable influ-
ence of a damper atmosphere that precedes a shower,
and his voice is heard at noonday uttering those sounds
which are commonly heard only at dew-fall. The swal-
low flies low and often dips into the stream, because
she finds near the surface of the water a greater abun-
dance of insects which are prevented from rising, by the
dampness of the air.

During the prevalence of these phenomena, the
heavenly bodies often exhibit peculiar aspects and add
new assurances to our predictions. As nature, after a
genial shower in summer, raises her bow in the clouds,
to be at the same time a proof of the subsidence of the
tempest and a signal for a general hymn of gladness to
the unseen Deity;—in like manner before a shower,
she encircles the moon with a luminous halo, to give
kindly warning of the coming event. The constella-
tions are often arrayed in unusual brightness, and then
suddenly begin to wane. Hesperus, after leading forth
the bright hosts of evening, sinks down behind a pavil-
ion of mist, and the chaste Diana displays her crescent
dripping with dews, as if she had just risen out of the
aerial damps of the earth. It was not all in vain that
the ancients believed the moon to be placed in heaven,
not only to illuminate the night, but also te unfold to
the inhabitants of earth the presages of the future;

WEATHER SIGNS. 71

accordingly in the circular halo, in the lunar rainbow
and the dripping crescent, man may behold on a still,
calm night, the omens of an approaching tempest.

The vegetable world shows intimate relations to all
these meteoric phenomena; and never does the hair
cloud in the upper heavens reveal the commencement
of a change, but the flower of the chickweed by half
closing its sensitive cup, responds to the same predic-
tion. When the clouds have gathered thickly around
this delicate nucleus, and the blue sky is hidden by a
congregated multitude’ of cumuli, until the heavens are
dappled all over with their dark masses — then this
little flower folds together its white petals and its green
calyx, as if to preserve the delicate stamens that are
arranged like so many little nestlings in its minute
flower cups, from all impending change. Every little
flower droops its head and prepares to mect the storm,
and as the air becomes still more heavily loaded with
moisture, the clover and the wood-sorrel contract their
tri-foliate leaves; and upon the barren hills, the gray
lichens, whose brittle branches so generally crumble be-
neath our tread, have become firm and elastic. Thus
do all the phenomena of the carth and the heavens cor-
respond in their significations; and the sea-gulls that
leave the vicinity of the ocean and settle down restlessly
near some inland harbor, bring us assurance that above
their own home on the waters, the elements are prepar-
ing for strife.

The clouds have at length accumulated so as to
darken all the sky; the cormorant has forsaken the sea;
and the plover and the curlew seem restless and agitated
in their usual haunts upon the shore. The pimpernel
has closed its scarlet flowers, and the purple sandwort
that clusters around our door steps in dry places, has

72 STUDIES IN THE FIELD AND FOREST.

shut up its little red eyelids; and the drooping flowers
of the field and the garden droop more heavily; the
amaryllis and the day-lily turn their delicate heads from
the wind, and the wild geranium has twisted its cap-
stles, and scattered its seeds, as if endued with a pre-
sentiment of the approaching rain, and cast them forth
at the moment most favorable to their germination.
The small birds have discontinued their songs, and fly
about restlessly, as if they were undetermined what to
do, or perceived some secret cause of alarm. Bees fly
only short distances from their hives, and return soon.
All insects are more than usually restive, except the
spider who mopes in his den and seems half torpid.
The toads have come out from their retreats in multi-
tudes, and unlike other animals, hop about in awkward
merriment, as if they expected some gift from the skies.
Last of all the east wind rolls the billows ashore, and
the swinging roar of the waves may be heard respond-
ing to the signals that have appeared simultaneously
over all the earth and the heavens.

Not only do certain animals utter unusual sounds in
that state of the atmosphere, that indicates the approach
of rain; but all distant sounds are heard more distinctly
than usual, because the atmosphere, when full of
moisture, becomes a mere perfect conductor. In these
phenomena we observe the same correspondences, which
I have already noticed; and when the clouds are thick-
ening over our heads and the moon looks down upon
her shadows softened by intervening mists, the tolling
of distant bells is heard more distinctly, and all distant
sounds boom more audibly over the plain. The roar of
the waves which is always louder before a storm, on
account of the strong winds that roll them more heavily
upon the beach, would be more audible at such times

WEATHER SIGNS. 73

without any increase of motion; for not only is the air
a better conductor of sound, but the east wind bears the
sound more directly to our ears. :

I have as yet treated chiefly of the signs that portend
rain, during dry weather. The signs of fair weather
during rain are less familiar to us, because our opportu-
nities for observing them are less favorable. We can-
not see them in the habits of flowers, but the lower-.ani-
mals are commonly affected in some peculiar manner,
when a change is about to take place. While man is,
for the most part, governed by his own reason and ob-
servation, the lower animals are unconsciously actuated
by a wisdom that is above them, and which, through
the medium of their sensations, guides them to certain
movements often attributed to a prescience that does
not belong to them.

On the approach of fair weather, the cattle leave their
shelters, and prefer to lie in the open field, and the
sheep seek the brow of the hill, because they are gov-
erned by their own sense of comfort. The birds which
are restless and unmusical before a storm, come out of
their retreats after it has passed away, and if the state
of the atmosphere is such as indicates a permanent
change, they perceive this in connection with the pro-
tracted light of day, and prolong their strains to a com-
paratively late hour in the evening. Hence, the woods
are unusually vocal after a summer shower, unless there
are other showers preparing to rise. If the birds sing
at this critical moment, we shall not fail to observe the
flies in great numbers hovering in the beams of the sun,
and swarms of gnats whirling round in a sort of hollow
column or vortex; as the moist air that precedes a rain,
scatters them, the dryer and more bracing air that fol-
lows it, assembles them again and prompts them to

7

74. STUDIES IN THE FIELD AND FOREST.

renew their gambols. The bats, governed in their
movements by these increased multitudes of insects,
come out more numerously after a rain, in pursuit of
their insect prey.

T have thus far made an attempt to show the harmo-
nious relations that exist between those different natural
phenomena which have been regarded as weather signs;
but I have made no attempt to enumerate their details,
which are too numerous for an essay of this descrip-
tion. The more we study these relations, the more
shall we be delighted with a science that is constantly
unveiling some new mystery. Every step we take in
this field of wonders, reveals new truths to our sight,
not perplexing the mind with doubts and inexplicable
problems, like the study of metaphysics, but making
our understanding clear with every step in our progress,
and affording us the pleasing consciousness that we are
drawing constantly nearer that divine temple from
which emanates all light and knowledge and beauty.

XL

COLORS AND FRAGRANCE OF FLOWERS.

—e—

THE’ colors, forms, and fragrance of the leaves of
plants, and of their flowers and fruit, have always been
a subject for curious philosophical speculation, and a
great many theories have been advanced to explain
their uses and advantages. The Abbe St. Pierre, who
has treated the subject very fully, indulges the fancy
that nature, in all these things, has operated'with regard
to general effects; and this idea is the great fundamen-
tal error upon which his speculations are founded. He
describes nature as working with reference to the pro-
duction of a beautiful picture, and proceeds upon the
hypothesis that she covers the trees and shrubs with
beautiful flowers to adorn the fields and please the sight
of man. Such ideas may be occasionally introduced
into one’s writings as pleasing poetical fancies, but
they are not true philosophy. In the following specula-
tions I proceed upon the hypothesis, that in every thing
which nature does for any species of plant or animal,
she does for the particular advantage of the individual
or the species. I proceed on the assumption that nature
works, in all that has reference to the organization of
a plant or an animal, solely for the welfare and preser-

76 STUDIES IN THE FIELD AND FOREST.

vation of that plant or animal, and their respective
species, and not for the advantage of another; as a man
builds a house with windows, not for the sake of
accommodating the sun, but for the sake of affording
the inhabitants the benefit of his light. If we observe
that a certain plant bears a flower with beautiful forms
and hues, and with sweet odors, we are rational in sup-
posing that these forms, hues, and odors are given it for
some purpose needful to itself or its species; and not
for the benefit of the insects that may thereby be
attracted to it, nor for that of man, whose senses may
be regaled by it. They are an indispensable part of
nature’s arrangements for the preservation of the indi-
vidual or the perpetuation of the species, and for these
purposes alone.

The boney in the nectary of the flower is a part of
that apparatus, which, in connection with the corolla
and the essences that emanate from the flower, nature
has provided for the perpetuation of the species, by
securing the codperation of insects in the work of fertil-
izing the blossom. But the honey in the nectary of the |
flower, though placed there to entice the bees and other
insects, is not designed for the special good of these
insects, but to cause them to perform an act of special
benefit to the flower or the plant. The honev being
placed there, nature then forms the bee with instru-
rents for obtaining the honey, and with an instinct
that guides him to it. But she places no burdens on
one species for the mere benefit of another. The dif-
ferent parts of the flower are evidently arranged with
reference to the development and perfection of the
seeds and fruit; and there is reason to believe that the
calyx, the corolla, the hues and fragrance and the forms
of the flower are all aids in perfecting the seeds and

COLORS AND FRAGRANCE OF FLOWERS. 77

fruit, though the purpose they serve be not so apparent
as that served by the stamens and pistils. As I have
already repeated, the nectaries are supplied with honey,
that the insects, attracted by it, while engaged in sip-
ping its sweets, should mix the pollen of the flower
upon those parts which require to be fertilized by the
dust. Could the work of fertilization be performed
without the agency of the insect, the honey would not
be placed there to tempt it to the blossom for purposes
that must be mischievous to the plant. Nature per-
forms no acts from mere wantonness; every creation
has some design, though we may be unable to find it
out.

It may be objected against this theory, that although
it might apply very well to monecious and dicecious
flowers, it seers altogether unnecessary for flowers that
have both stamens and pistils. In the case of the
latter, it is averred, that the close proximity of the parts
must insure the fertilization of the seed. All this may
be granted without in the least derogating from the
necessity of the codperation of insects. It is probable
that the same law holds among plants as among ani-
mals, and that breeding in and in would in the course
of time be fatal to any species. Nature has provided
against this emergency by attracting the insect to the
flower, who bears the pollen of one perfect flower, to
the stigma of another flower of the same species.

As the season advances, the insect tribes become
more and more numerous, while the numbers of flowers
are diminished. On this account they are more easily
discovered, and require the aid of their fragrance in a
less degree to attract and guide the insect to their cups.
Hence the autumnal and later summer flowers have
less fragrance than those of spring and the early summer.

7 *

78 STUDIES IN THE FIELD AND FOREST.

But after the autumn has reduced the numbers of the
honey-sipping insects, it might be expected ihat the
flowers should again become sweet-scented as in spring.
I have observed this to be true of some few species, as
of the inconspicuous spiral flowers of the neottia. In
the autumn, when those insects abound that consume
the foliage of plants, as the grasshopper tribe, many
plants are defended from their attacks by a rank herba-
ceous smell, that emanates from their leaves, and a similar
flavor in their taste, while the gaudy flowers of the same
plants, like those of the gerardia and the thorn-apple
(stramonium) invite the bee to their blossoms. I believe
it is an error to consider the honey of the flowers of
poisonous plants to be itself poisonous. Were it so,
the ends of nature would be defeated, as the insect
attracted by it would be killed while in the cup of the
flower, and by his own decay cause the destruction of
the blossom. Plants which have a medicated leaf are
more common in the later summer, when grasshoppers
and locusts are numerous, by which they might be
devoured. Nature has insured the preservation of the
grasses, which are devoured both by insects and quad-
rupeds, by providing them with the means of multiply-
ing by their roots, which are secured from attack by
growing underground.

But nature is not confined to one expedient for pro-
moting the same end. She sometimes gives a sweet
smell to the whole plant, instead of confining it to the
flower. She has done this for the mint tribe, the sweet
briar, and thé myrtles. These odors may also serve the
purpose of defending them from the grazing and brows-
ing animals and the herbivorous insects. It will be
found by examining the characters of plants, that
nature does not entice an insect or any other creature to

COLORS AND FRAGRANCE OF FLOWERS. 79

the plant, if the habit of such insect or animal be to
devour it, except in the instances of fruits. When the
plant is of such a nature that it would be destroyed by
the loss of its foliage, the new growth is invariably pro-
tected by thorns, by a poisonous quality of its sap, or
by a strong odor or acrid taste, which respectively guard
it from the attacks of insects and herbivorous animals.
Hence the apple, the pear, the hawthorn, and the rose,
whose foliage and tender branches are agreeable and
wholesome to animals, are protected in their wild state
by thorns. The peach, the plum, and the cherry, on
the contrary, are without thorns, and nature accordingly
has protected them from the ravages of insects and
animals, by infusing a bitter and poisonous principle
into their sap. The willow and its kindred tribes, not
so well protected by this bitter taste, and being without
a poisonous quality, have more of that sort of vitality
which enables them to recover from the effects of severe
browsing at any season of the year.

There is another fact which is worthy of remark.
When the fields and meadows in summer are full of
gaudy flowers, we find some species growing in the
shade of woods, and under the cover of thick shrubbery.
Such is the sweet pyrola. Nature has given to this
delicate flower, that hides its drooping blossoms under
the foliage of the sweet gale and the panicled andro-
meda, the delicious odor of cinnamon. This species is
white, aud bears its flowers in a spike with their disk
turned downwards. The more elegant and showy flow-
ers of the pyrola umbellata, on the other hand, which
are not concealed under the foliage of shrubs, being
more conspicuous, are accordingly deprived of the fra-
grance of their kindred species. The same principle is
extended to the shrubs; while the magnificent clusters

80 STUDIES IN THE FIELD AND FOREST.

of the mountain laurel are almost without scent, the less
showy and white flowers of the azalea are very fra-
grant. Hence, too, the Canadian rhodora, whose brilliant
lilac fowers are rendered more conspicuous by appear-
ing before their leaves are out, is less odorous than the
alder-leaved clethra, whose blossoms might escape
notice, when buried under the mass of foliage that is
peculiar to the later summer, when they are out.

To this theory there is an apparent exception in the
flowers of the grasses, which are neither beautiful nor
odorous. But nature has formed the grasses in such a
manner as to render them independent of the services
of insects for promoting their fertilization. She has
caused them to spring up in dense masses, and elevated
the flowers on long and slender stems, which are readily
moved to and fro by the winds, and constantly brought
into contact with one another. To render this process
the more certain, the flowers of grasses are unprovided
with a corolla, which would interfere with this amalga-
mating process, and nature has suspended the powdery
anthers outside of the glumes, so that the stamens of
one flower are easily brought in contact with the poin-
tals of others. The flower of the grass, which is with-
out honey, has neither the fragrance of other flowers,
nor its beautiful corolla, which would serve only to
guide the insect to a dry fountain, and to an object that
has no need of its agency. Nature has established
other agents to perform these services for the grasses;
and appointed the zephyrs for this purpose, who dip
their pinions into the farina of the flowers, and fertilize
them while sweeping over the waving field in their
invisible flight.

The hues, the fragrance, and the general beauty of the
flower are but parts of an apparatus purposely contrived

COLORS AND FRAGRANCE OF FLOWERS. 81

for the accomplishment of this end. The honey is
placed in the flower for no other purpose but to attract
the insect. The fragrance is designed to spread abroad’
into the atmosphere something that shall notify the
insect of the presence of the flower, and the beauty of
its form and the splendor of its hues are intended to
guide the insect to its exact location. The bee has just
emerged from the hive, to go abroad in search for his
honeyed subsistence. How would he find it, if the flower
had neither brilliancy of hues nor sweetness of scent?
And why ‘should these things be superadded to the
flower and thereby attract the insect to it, if the insect
be in no way serviceable or necessary to. the plant?
On coming out he perceives the odor of the sweet-
scented narcissus; but this odor is so equally diffused
that it serves only to detain, not to guide or direct him.
While flying round in the midst of the perfumed gales,
the beautiful disk of the flower, with its white corolla,
and its purple and yellow centre, suddenly attracts his
sight, and he directs his course immediately to its de-
pository of. sweets.

The flower attracts attention both by its colors and
its forms, which are almost always regular and geomet-
rical, that they may form a more conspicuous contrast
with the herbage around, A solitary flower, which was
not conspicuous, might entirely escape the sight of a
multitude of insects, even if it was highly fragrant, and
its obscurity might prove fatal to the continuance of its
species. Nature has, therefore, taken care, by a great
variety of arrangements, to avoid any such accident. I
have observed that. the wild strawberry blossoms that
grow under the shade of bushes, where they are hidden
from the sight of insects, are more apt to prove barren

52 STUDIES IN THE FIELD AND FOREST.

of fruit, than those of the same species that grow in an
open field.

It is for this reason that solitary flowers are commonly
more beautiful than flowers that grow in clusters, which
are rendered conspicuous by their aggregations. For
this reason, also, drooping flowers, that are partly con-
cealed by their position, are more fragrant than those of
kindred species that are upright. There is, as it were,
a contention between the plants of different species to
display the greatest attractions to the fertilizing insect.
The large flower of the dandelion, placed upon the
green verdure of the early spring meadow, needs no
other contrast, besides that of its own yellow disk with
the green grass, to render it a conspicuous object. The
pansy, on the other hand, being a smaller flower, com-
pensates itself by assuming a beautiful union of three
colors, yellow, violet, and purple, and turns its disk to
the sun, not to receive any direct benefit from his rays,
but to be more conspicuous, by the reflected light, to
the insect advancing in the direction of the rays.
These three colors combined can be recognized at a
greater distance than any one of the colors alone.

I have remarked that flowers commonly assume geo-
metrical shapes, as contrasting more vividly with the
general irregular forms of vegetation. There are cer-
tain plants, like the orchids, that are remarkable for
assuming the shapes of insects, that serve to attract the
fertilizing agent by holding up an image of its own
features. ‘These characters are said to resemble those
of insects which are indigenous to the same country.
All such flowers are highly perfumed, and richly stored
with honey. Other flowers are furnished with con-
trivances for holding the insect in confinement until he

COLORS AND FRAGRANCE OF FLOWERS. 83

has finished his work. Such is the Asclepias. Certain
small insects enter the flower, and descend through a
sort of tube into ‘a chamber containing the parts of fruc-
tification. They are immediately confined there by
little hairs bristling down towards the base of the
flower, that prevent their returning. The insect, made
restless by this confinement, moves about and covers
himself with pollen. The flower soon fades, when he
escapes, bearing this pollen to another flower, and pro-
ducing a cross which could not otherwise be effected.
It may be observed that the most gaudy flowers have
in general the least odor; for just in proportion as they
are made attractive by their forms and by the splendor
of their hues, is their fragrance less needful to them.
Accordingly, white flowers are generally sweeter than
those of the same genus which are highly colored.
The white daffodil and the white lily are the sweetest
of their respective genera. The same is true of the
white tulip, which is, I believe, always fragrant. Some
of the most powerful odors are emitted by greenish.
flowers, like those of the ambrosia and mignonette, of
the grape vine, and of many of the amentaceous trees
and shrubs. With respect to flowers of an inconspicu-
eus and greenish hue, it is worthy of notice that they.
are seldom solitary, but grow in dense clusters or spikes,
or upon trees where they are rendered apparent as a
part of the tree that bears them. In this way, also, we
may account for the fact that the flowers of trees are
not, in general,.so beautiful as those which grow upon
the ground, since the elevated position of the former
causes them to be more readily discovered by the insect..
The flowers of twining plants, on the other hand, are
the largest in existence. heir habit of creeping about
under the shade of trees and shrubs, places them in

84 STUDIES IN THE FIELD AND FOREST.

comparative obscurity. Nature compensates them by
giving them a large and attractive flower, or one that is
very sweetly scented. The vines of the squash and the
pumpkin, whose broad leaves might conceal their
flowers, bear them of extraordinary size; and the pas-
sion-flower is formed with the most beautiful arrange-
ment of parts and variety of colors to render it con-
spicuous. The same is true, in a less degree, of the
convolvulus and the bignonia. The Mexican vine and
some of the honeysuckles, on the contrary, having less
conspicuous flowers, receive their compensation by
being endowed with an extraordinary amount of fra-
grance.

There are certain trees that bear solitary flowers wide-
ly separated from one another. These are either very
gaudy like those of the tulip trees, or very sweet like
those of the magnolia. Nature has likewise adapted
the colors of flowers to their situations. Thus we find
the flowers that grow in the shade of woods are mostly
white, while those that stand out in the open field often
have dark hues, which would be indistinguishable under
the shade of the forest. The flowers of most of the
fruit trees are white, mixed with shades of crimson;
but as white forms a more conspicuous contrast with
green than with the naked branches of the trees, those
trees and shrubs that produce their flowers before the
leaves are usually pink or crimson. Such are those of
the peach and the almond, while the white blossoms of
the pear and the cherry do not appear until the foliage
is out, and open at the same time with it. The blos-
soms of the apple-tree, which appear simultaneously
with the development of their leaves, are crimson be-
fore they are opened, when the leaves are yet unex-
panded, but grow white when the flowers are fully

COLORS AND FRAGRANCE OF FLOWERS. 85

opened on the. groundwork of the ripely developed
foliage. The Canadian rhodora and the procumbent
azalea, which are crimson, bear their flowers before the
leaves, while the white azalea appears only after the full
maturity of its foliage.

Most of the water-lilies are white: but white, if it
were planted upon the pure glassy surface of the water,
would not be very discernible, as the water which in
one position is blue, in another is white. But the
white water-lilies are always expanded on a smooth
green carpet formed by their broad flat foliage, so that
the white flowers are contrasted with the verdure of this
surface of leaves, and not with the white or blue surface
of the water. The saracenia, on the contrary, that sus-
pends its nodding flowers over the shallow waters of the
lake shore, reflecting sometimes the blue of the sky,
and sometimes the whiteness of the clouds, is made
conspicuous by the sobriety of its colors. Its dark
chocolate and purple hues render it discernible at a
great distance, rising out of the shallow and reedy
waters.

There are other colors of vegetation, besides those of
the flowers, for which a reason and a purpose are not
so easily assigned. ‘The purpose served by the green-
ness of the foliage of all or nearly all plants may not
be a single one. It seems to me not improbable that
nature has selected it as a groundwork upon which the
flowers are rendered more conspicuous than they could
be rendered by any other color. Of this fact the
makers of bouquets are fully aware. A few flowers,
placed on a background of green foliage, make a better
show than a whole bunch of the brightest flowers with-
out any such opposition. No other color can be
selected that could so well answer this purpose.

8

86 STUDIES IN THE FIELD AND FOREST.

‘Nature, for this reason, has adopted it to render the
flowers, by opposition, more discernible by the insects,
whose agency is required in their fertilization.

The primary object of nature, however, in giving
this hue to the foliage of vegetation, is probably the
adaptedness of a green color to promote that degree
and kind of absorption of light which is necessary for
the oxygenating process, carried on by the leaves or the
lungs of the plant. Our knowledge of vital chemistry
is not yet sufficient to enable us to assign the peculiar
action of the green color of the leaf upon the juices of
the vegetable. Green is probably that medium tint
which is most favorable to the noderate action of the
sun’s rays, which would be too powerful as generators
of heat in a darker colored leaf, or as generators of
oxygen in the lighter colored one.

THERE are pleasurable emotions awakened by the re-
turn of spring, unfelt at any other season of the year,
and resembling those we might be supposed to experi-
ence upon a renewal of our youth. We certainly feel
younger and more hopeful at this season than in the
autumn; and we look back upon the lapse of the three
winter months, with a less realizing sense of the loss of
so much of our allotted period of life, than upon the
lapse of the three summer months. The flight of either
season carries us equally onward in our mortal progress ;
yet we cannot avoid the feeling that seems to convince
us that the lapse of winter is our gain, as the lapse of
summer was our loss. And surely of these two feel-
ings, the one that deceives is better than the one that
utters the truth; and though we are several months.
older than we were in the autumn, we may thank
heaven for the delusion that makes us feel younger.

The spring, which is the best season for action and
enjoyment, may be regarded as unfavorable to contem-
plation. So many delightful objects are constantly in-
viting us to pleasure, that the mind is tempted to neg-
lect its serious pursuits, and we feel too much exhilara-

88 STUDIES IN THE FIELD AND FOREST.

tion for business or study. It is not while surrounded
by pleasures of any kind, that we are most capable of
reflecting upon them, or describing their influence; as
the act of thinking upon them requires a temporary
suspension of our enjoyments. Hence in winter we
can most easily describe the charms of spring, when
the task becomes a pleasing occupation, by reviving the
scenes of recollected nature, and thus affording us a
retrospective joy, blended with a foretaste of that which
is to come. But when the rising flowers, the perfumed
breezes, and the music of the animated tenants of the
streams, woods, and orchards, are all inviting one to
come forth and partake of the pleasures they proffer, it
is difficult to sit down, apart from these delights, to the
comparatively dull task of describing them.

Spring is, therefore, the inspiring season of enterprise,
rathcr than of poetry, as instead of telling of joys that
are past, it unfolds the promise of future happiness. It
is not the season of thought, inasmuch as it is not the
occasion of melancholy and retrospection. It is the
time for the lover of nature to collect his observations,
to improve his taste for the beauties that are spread be-
fore him, and to partake of the entertainment that is
provided for him; but winter is the season for reflecting
upon these observations, and for descanting on pleas-
ures that are past. In autumn, likewise, we cast mel-
ancholy and wishful thoughts back upon the beautiful
months that have just fled, with feelings more alive to
their charms than when they were present with us, ren-
dering every circumstance and every effort of the mind
agreeable, that serves to revive them distinctly in our
memory. ‘Thus during the absence of friends, we be-
come more sensible of the happiness their presence

APRIL. 89

afforded us; of the value of their friendship, the charms
of their society, and the dreariness of separation.

As childhood is not always happy, the spring is not
always cheerful; and as youth is sometimes visited with
the sorrows and afflictions of later life, the vernal skies
are sometimes blackened with wintry tempests, and the
earth bound up with ices and frost. Even in the month
of April, the little flowers that are just peeping forth
from their winter coverts, are often greeted with snow
as well as sunshine. The chilly breezes from the ocean
are likewise a constant source of discomfort to the
dwellers on the coast. Yet with all these cheerless
winds, April is, in general, a delightful month, and the
annoyance of the sea-breezes is hardly felt, except by
invalids, or those who have been enervated by confine-
ment. An east wind is not without its advantages to
the laboring man or the pedestrian. When accompa-
nied with-sunshine, this is the only wind that is of such
an equable temperature as to admit of brisk exercise in
the open air at all times and seasons, without suffering
from the extremes of cold or heat.

The ices which have bound the earth for half the year
are at length dissolved; the mountain snows are spread
out in fertilizing lakes upon the plains, and the whole
vegetable world is awakening to a new and beautiful
resurrection. ‘The crocus, the snowdrop, and the yellow
daffodil are already blooming in the gardens; the early
blue violet spangles the southern slopes of the pastures,
the vernal saxifrage crowns the mossy surfaces of the
rocky hills, and here and there may be found a delicate
blossom of the early anemone, in the sunny places in
the oaken woods. The barren hills are velveted with
mosses of a perfect greenness, delicately shaded with a

profusion of glossy brown stems, like so many hairs,
g8*

90 STUDIES IN THE FIELD AND FOREST.

terminating with the peculiar flower of the plant; and
long stripes of verdure are interspersed among the gray
rocks and seared vegetation, marking the progress of
the little rivulets, as they pursue their irregular course
down the hill-side into the valleys. The lowlands, so
magnificent in autumn, when covered with the flowers
of the purple aster and the golden coreopsis, are now
mostly covered with a sheet of glistening waters, put
into constant agitation by the multitudes of frogs that
are tumbling about in the shallows, as they are engaged
in their croaking frolies.

If you wander, after the middle of the month, along
the alluvial borders of the streams, you may discover
the newly risen flowers of the fetid hellebore, (Ictodes
fcetidus,) the greatest vegetable curiosity of the season,
resembling some monster with a spotted helmet, just
peeping his head above the surface of the earth. It is
a medicinal herb; has a dragonlike aspect when it first
appears, and conceals its flowers, which are curious and
not inelegant, beneath a blood-stained hood, strongly
marked with green and purple. In similar situations
you may find the elegantly mottled leaves of the dog-
tooth violet, the American erythronium; and, if the
season be forward, its beautiful lilylike flowers, nod-
ding as if it were dangerous to exhibit a full view of
their charms, and hiding their heads beneath the broad
leaves which, at a distance, are the only conspicuous
parts of the plant.

The odors that perfume the atmosphere in early
spring are chiefly exhaled from the flowering trees and
shrubs ; in summer they proceed from the herbage and
flowers that cover the surface of the earth. Many
trecs and shrubs are already in blossom; but a whole
month will elapse before the green fields will be brightly

APRIL. 91

gemmed with flowers. The red maple is clothed in a
full drapery of crimson, exhibiting in April as in Octo-
ber, the most gorgeous spectacle in the forest. Several
species of willows are elegantly festooned with tassels
that hang like fringe from every twig; the aments of
some species being of a silvery whiteness; and covered
with silken down, and others of a bright golden hue.
The Balm of Gilead and other poplars, while the scales
are dropping from their hybernacles, to loose the young
flowers from their confinement, afford the most grateful
of all odors, combining the sweetness of the rose with
the terebinthine odors of the pine, and causing the
vernal gales of our. landscape to rival the spicy breezes
of Arabia. But there are exhalations that spring from
the soil itself, at this time of the year, that afford an
agreeable sensation of freshness, almost like fragrance,
and resembling the scent of the cool, refreshing sea-
breezes, which, wafted over beds of rockweed and other
sea plants, when the tide is low, often rise up suddenly
in the heat of summer.

Though the tassel-bearing trees and shrubs, from the
graceful willow down to the humble tribes of hazels
and Dutch myrtles, are the principal flowering plants of
the present month, yet as the season advances, several
species of small flowers, anticipating the arrival of May,
will often add their beauty to the floral garland of
April. The coltsfoot already spangles the fallow tillage
lands and neglected gardens, with its yellow compound
flowers, just before the coming of the dandelion, of
which it is a miniature likeness ; the gill, with its whorls
of minute, lip-shaped blossoms, of a bright blue, may
soon be seen, under the shade of the fences and shrub-
bery, and many other plants, not yet in flower, exhibit
their rising tufts of green leaves, about the fields and

92 STUDIES IN TIE FIELD AND FOREST.

by-ways. In the woods, the white starlike flowers of
the goldthread are glittering among the evergreen
leaves that have just escaped from their long burial in
the snows; and in the fertile meadows, the bloodroot,
worthy of a better name, sends up its delicate clusters
of white flowers, under the protection of the leafless
trees and shrubbery.

The student of nature, during the present month,
must carefully observe the weather-signs, before he ven-
tures far from the shelter of a roof, especially when the
south wind is blowing. The most tempting weather,
on account of impending showers, is the most danger-
ous. When the gales are breathing gently from the
south, laden with the spicy odors of the more forward
vegetation of southern groves and orchards, we are
tempted, by the balmy sweetness and grateful warmth
of the atmosphere, to take no note of distance in our
excursions. We forget every thing in the world but
the sensations derived from the odors, the soft breezes,
and the wood-notes, all mingled together in a sort of
delirious confusion; and we become too deeply intoxi-
cated with pleasure, to think upon the lapse of minutes
and hours, or of the dul] business that may call us home-
ward. In the mean time, the clouds imperceptibly
thicken overhead, and while one is still a mile from any
sheltcr, save that of the pine wood, that can avail one
only during a momentary shower, the rain begins to
pour down with violence, and awakens him from his
pleasing revery, to a realizing sense of discomfort and
solitude. I have’ frequently been thus overtaken in my
rambling excursions, and when completely drenched
with rain, after a delightful tour, I have thought I could
realize the misery, which the man of pleasure must
experience, when suddenly reduced from a condition of

APRIL. 93

wealth and luxury, to one of shame, poverty, and wretch-
edness.

The landscape, though not yet clothed with leaves
and verdure, is already awake with the revival of the
animated creation. The little familiar bluebirds are
busy among the hollows of old trees, where they rear
their offspring, secure from the depredation of foes.
Multitudes of them, seen usually in pairs and seldom in
flocks, are scattered over the orchards, responding to
each other, in their few plaintive, but cheerful notes ;
and their azure plumage is beautifully conspicuous,
as they flit among the naked branches of the trees.
The voice of the robin resounds in all familiar places, and
the song of the linnet is heard in the groves which have
lately echoed but with the scream of the jay and the
cawing of the raven. Young lambs, but lately ushered
into life, may be seen, with various antic motions, try-
ing the use of those limbs, that seem to run wild with
them, before they have hardly ascertained their powers ;
and parties of little children, some with baskets, em-
ployed in gathering salads, others busied in picking the
red fruit of the partridge berry, will often pause from
their labors with delight, to watch the friskings of these
happy creatures. ,

The little insects that whirl about on the surface of
the still waters, have commenced their gambols anew,
and fishes are again seen darting about in the streams.
A few butterflies, companions of the early spring flow-
ers, are flitting in irregular courses over the plains, the
spider is seen hanging by its invisible thread, from the
twigs of the orchard trees, and insects of various species
are swarming in sunny places. The leaves of the last.
autumn, disinterred from underneath the snow, are once

94 STUDIES IN THE FIELD AND FOREST.

more rustling to the winds and to the leaping motions
of the squirrel. Small tortoises may be seen basking
in the sunshine, upon the logs that extend into the
ditches, and as we draw near, we see their glistening
armor, as with awkward haste they plunge into the
water. The ices which had accumulated on the flats
of the sea-shore, have entirely disappeared; and the
little fishes, that congregate about the edges of the salt-
water creeks, already make a tremulous motion of the
waters, as upon our sudden approach, they dart away
from the shallows into the deeper sea.

The sun has sunk below the belt of the horizon.
The wind is still, and the countless lakes that cover the
meadows which will soon be waving with grass, reflect
from their mirrored surfaces a perfect image of every
bird and cloud that floats above them. The bright-
eyed evening star now shines alone. The lowing of
cattle is heard only at intervals from the farm yards ;
and the occasional sound of distant bells is borne
softly in the hush of day’s decline. The birds are
silent in the woods, save now and then a solitary one,
that greeted perhaps by a lingering sunbeam, reflected
from a radiant cloud, will sing a few twittering notes
of welcome. But nature is not silent. The notes of
a countless myriad of little piping musicians, rise in a
delightfully swelling chorus, from every lake and stream,
now loudening with an increased multitude of voices,
then gradually dying away into a momentary silence.
These sounds are the charm of an April evening, and
in my early days I used to listen to them with more
pleasure than to the sweetest strains of music, as pro-
phetic of the reviving beauties of nature. And now,
when the first few piping notes fall upon my ear, my

APRIL. 95

mind is greeted by a vision of dearly remembered joys,
that crowd vividly upon the memory. These tender
recollections, blended with the hopes and anticipations
of spring, serve with all other attributes of the season,
to tranquillize the mind and render it cheerful and sat-
isfied with the world.

XIII.

THE VERNAL FLOWERS.

Iy our climate we seldom realize, during the months
of April and May, that pleasant temperature which is
supposed to characterize the vernal season of the year.
The earth is often covered with snow until the first of
April, and the weather is too cold for vegetation before
the middle of the month. The progress of the year is
retarded by the prevalence of north-easterly winds, and
the icebergs that float down from the Arctic seas infuse
a chill into our atmosphere, long after the sun has
brought out the early flowers, and arrayed the whole
wilderness in blossoms. ‘The vernal flowers of our
climate do not begin to appear before the middle of
April; except in extraordinary seasons, and many of
them, retarded by the protracted chills from the ocean,
continue to deck the fields until they are suddenly
brought to maturity by the hot summer sun. It is not
unusual for the whole month of April to pass away
without producing more than’ two or three species of
wild flowers; and, on May-day, the youths and maidens
are often obliged to abandon their search for flowers,
and to crown their young queen with a simple wreath
of evergreens.

EARLY FLOWERS. 97

Among the vernal flowers are usually classed all
those, which, in propitious seasons, are expanded dur-
ing the months of April and May, and mostly become
extinct before the days have obtained their greatest
length. Within this period the most delicate and in-
teresting flowers of the whole year come to perfection,
commencing with the anemones and violets, that bring
along in their rear whole myriads of bellworts, cornels,
ginsengs, saxifrages, and columbines, until the proces-
sion is closed by the wild geranium, that leads on the
still more brilliant host of summer. The vernal flowers
are mostly herbaceous and minute. They grow in
sheltered situations, on the southern slopes of declivities
or the sunny borders of a wood, and require but a short
period of heat and sunshine to perfect their blossoms.’
They are generally pale in their tints, many of them
white, but commonly tinged with delicate shades of
blue or lilac. The anemones of our fields are true
vernal flowers, and there is hardly a solitary one to be
seen after the middle of June. Such, also, are the
most of the violets, the bellworts, and the Solomon’s
seals. There are some spring flowers, however, that
remain in bloom during a great part of summer, until
they lose all their charms by constantly intruding them-
selves upon our notice. Such are the common butter-
cups, which are favorites with children when they first
appear, but shine like gilded toys, and symbolize no.
charming sentiment to endear them to our sight.

The anemones, on the other hand, present in their
habits and appearance emblems of many tender and
poetic images. One of the earliest of these to be
found in our woods is the liverwort, (hepatica triloba,):
appearing on the sunny slope of a hill that is protected
by woods, and continuing to put forth its delicate

9

98 STUDIES IN THE FIELD AND FOREST.

blossoms during a period of six weeks. These are the
flowers which have generally rewarded my earliest
botanical rambles, and every year I behold them with
increased delight. They are often seen in crowded
clusters, half concealed by some dry oak leaves, that
were elevated by the flowers as they sprang up from
the bosom of the earth. They vary in color, from a
dark purple and lilac, to lighter shades of the same tints.
Appearing in clusters that often contain more than
twenty flowers, they form a pleasing contrast with the
little wood anemone that spangles the mossy knolls
with its solitary drooping blossoms, scattered somewhat
evenly over the green surface. While we admire the
splendor and elegance of the liverwort in clusters of
various shades, some purple or lilac, some of a pale
blue, and others white, the wood anemones are still
more charming, on account of their expression of meek-
ness and delicacy. The rue-leaved anemone differs
from each of these. More lively in its appearance than
either, it bears several upright flowers upon one stalk,
with such a look of cheerfulness that they seem almost
to smile upon us from their green shady nooks.

Not the least charming of our vernal flowers is one,
which having no standard English name, is known by
a different appellation in almost every place. This
flower is the Houstonia caerulea. It sometimes appears
in the latter part of April; but, in this vicinity, its
blossoms are closely identified with the month of May,
when they are so thickly strown over the fields, as, at a
distance, to resemble a flight of snow spread lightly
over the green pastures. The whole plant is almost as
delicate as the finer mosses; and the flowers, though
minute, are rendered conspicuous by the brilliant golden
hue of their centre, that melts imperceptibly into the

EARLY FLOWERS. 99

azure whiteness of the corolla. The houstonia has
sometimes been called starwort, a name that corre-
sponds very justly with its general habits and appear-
ance. In April one or two solitary flowers of this
species may be seen peeping out from the green herbage,
as in early evening a few stars are seen twinkling
through the diminishing light. These continue to mul-
tiply, until they glitter in the meads and valleys like the
heavenly host at midnight; and then by degrees they
slowly disappear, until June scatters them from the
face of the earth, as morning melts away the starry
lights in the firmament.

It may seem remarkable that the earliest spring
flowers that come up under a frosty sky, and are often
enveloped in snow, should, notwithstanding this appar-
ently hardening exposure, exceed almost all others in
delicacy. Such are the anemones, the houstonia, and
the bellwort, among our indigenous plants, and such
the crocus, the snowdrop, and the lily of the valley,
among the exotics. The spring flowers are likewise,
for the most part, more powerfully and more sweetly
scented than those of other seasons. Even the aments
that hang from the willow, the poplar, and the sweet-
fern, are more fragrant than the aments of the oak, the
beech, and the chestnut, which appear a month later.
The sweet-scented vernal grass, (anthoxanthum odora-
tum,) one of our earliest grasses, is exceeded by no
species in fragrance. Many of the small flowers of
spring that seem, when examined singly, to be nearly
scentless, are found to be very fragrant when collected
into bunches. I have observed this fact of some of the
violets, of the two-leaved Solomon’s seal, and some
other small flowers. Though we cannot regard their
superior fragrance as an unexceptionable trait in the

100 STUDIES IN THE FIELD AND FOREST.

character of the spring flowers, yet, as the season ad-
vances, the blossoms of plants become less and less
fragrant, until the fields of autumn display their myr-
iads of gaudy flowers, that give out scarcely a percep-
tible odor.

ln this phenomenon I think TI can detect one of those
mysterious provisions of nature, which are instituted for
the preservation of the species. All flowers seem to
depend more or less upon insects as agents in the work
of their fertilization. In early spring, when there are
but few insects abroad, they might not be able to dis-
cover the flowers, if the latter did not send out into the
atmosphere a strong and agreeable perfume, by which
the insect is guided to their honey cups. The insect
having entered the cup of the flower, while engaged in
sipping sweets from the nectaries, mixes the pollen upon
the stigma, by the motions of his delicate feet and
wings; or, as in the case of the dicecious plants, bears
it upon his downy wings and thighs, to the distant
blossom that requires its fertilizing properties.

Children, who are unaflected lovers of flowers, have
always shown a preference for those of early spring,
when they are more attractive on account of their
novelty, and seem more beautiful as the harbingers of a
warmer season. It is at this time that we most fully
realize the influence of the alternations of the seasons,
in promoting our happiness. The philosophers of na-
ture long since discovered that winter is necessary as a
period of repose for certain vegetable tribes, that with-
out it would perish or become unproductive. But this
beneficent change is equally necessary to promote the
vigor of all our susceptibilities for enjoyment; and
winter, while it shuts us out from very many healthful
pleasures, is a period during which our moral feelings

EARLY FLOWERS. 101

and imagination acquire new sensibilities. It is appar-
ent that to this influence may be attributed the greater
pleasure we derive from the sight of the early spring
flowers. After the earth has remained bleak and deso-
late for half the year, every beautiful thing in nature
has a renewed charm, when it reappears; and a single
violet by the way-side inspires a little child with more
delight than he feels when surrounded by a whole gar-
den of blossoms in the month of July.

Parties of young children are annually called out by
the first warm sunshine to hunt for the early flowers of
April. The botanist is also already out among the
birds and children, peeping into green dells under the
shelving rocks, or in sunny nooks brushing away the
dry oak leaves, to find the early anemone or the fragrant
ground-laurel, (epigeea repens,) dipping his hand into
clear streams for confervee and watercresses, or examin-
ing the drooping branches of the andromeda for its
rows of pearly gems. He thinks not meanly of his
pursuit, though he finds for his companions the village
children and the poor herb woman who is employed in
gathering salads for the market. From her lips he may
obtain some important knowledge and derive a moral
hint, which may teach him that the sum of our enjoy-
ments is proportioned to the simplicity of our habits
and pursuits; and that this poor herb woman, who lives
under the open windows of heaven, enjoys more happi-
ness, with all her poverty, than many envied persons
who are prisoned in a palace and shackled with gold.

In the early part of the month he finds but few
flowers to reward his search, and he watches every little
group of children he meets to inquire if they have been
successful. By consulting with them he often learns
the locality of a rare plant, a new phase in the aspect

9 *

102 STUDIES IN THE FIELD AND FOREST.

of nature, or discovers some forgotten charm that used
to hover about certain old familiar scenes, or that was
connected with some once familiar object, to whose
pleasing influence he had become blunted, but which is
now revived in all its former intensity, by witnessing its
effects on the susceptible minds of the young. Not
long after the first of the month many amentaceous
shrubs are covered with their flowing drapery of blos-
soms. Along the borders of the old stonewalls, and
outside of the woods, the hazel groves display some of
the earliest flowers of the year. Their light green
aments, before the leaves have started from their
hybernacles, hang like fringe from their numerous
branches; and attracted by their odors the honey bees
and other early insects have already commenced their
mellifuous operations among their flowery racemes.
While the hazel thus adorns the edges of the woods
and the rustic way-sides, the hills are covered with
sweet fern bushes, whose flowers diffuse a spicy odor
that never dies out from their foliage.

We are not obliged to go far from our door steps to
see the evidences of reviving vegetation. The elms are
fully embroidered with blossoms of a bright chocolate
hue; and on account of the graceful droop of their
branches, the flowers seem to have a pendulous charac-
ter, resembling long tassels of fringe, whose sobriety of
hue corresponds with the general sombre tints of the
landscape. ‘The red maple, arrayed in a more brilliant
vesture, and in the ruddy hues of a summer evening
clond, when rising up among the still leafless trees of
the forest, seems to illuminate its shady recesses, like a
pyre of crimson flame. The willows bearing blossoms
either yellow or of a silvery whiteness, occasioned by
the down that covers their aments, add a diflerent kind

EARLY FLOWERS. 103

of lustre to similar grounds. When the elm, the red
maple, the different willows, and the tremulous poplar,
with its purplish aments, happen to be grouped together
in front of an evergreen wood, the April sun looks down
upon a scene of varied beauty not surpassed by the
floral spectacles that glisten under the brighter beams
of the summer solstice.

‘We have to lament in this climate the absence of
many beautiful flowers, which are associated in our
minds with the opening of spring, by our familiarity
with English literature. We search in vain over our
green meads and sunny hill-sides for the daisy and the
cowslip, which, like so many gems from heaven, span-
. gle the fields in Great Britain, and gladden the sight of
the English cottager. We have read of them until
they seem like the true tenants of our own fields; and
when on a pleasant ramble we do not find them, there
seems to be a void in the landscape, and the fields seem
to have lost their fairest ornaments. Thus poetry,
while it inspires the mind with sentiments that con-
tribute largely to the sum of our happiness, often binds
our affections to objects we can never behold and shall
never caress. The daisy and the cowslip are remem-
bered in our reading as the bright-eyed children of
spring ; and they emblemize those little members of our
former family circle, of whom we have heard but have
never seen, who exist only in the pensive history of the
youthful group whose numbers are imperfect without
them.

In our gardens alone do we find the pensive snow-
drop, the poetic narcissus, the crocus, and the hyacinth.
There only is the heartsease, or tricolored violet, which
equally adorns the fresh chaplets of April, and blends
its colors with the brown sheaves of October. There

104 STUDIES IN THE FIELD AND FOREST.

only is the lily of the valley, the bright Bethlehem star,
and the creeping blue-eyed periwinkle. The heath is
neither in our fields nor our gardens. ‘The flowers of
classic lands, and many plants which are sacred to the
muse, are not found in the fields and valleys of the new
continent. Our native flowers, for the most part, are
consecrated only by associations with our own experi-
ence, and not with poetry and romance. The starwort,
the anemone, the saxifrage, and the drooping bellwort,
look up to us from their green mossy Knolls, full of the
light of the happy years of our childhood; but the
flowers which have been sung by the British or the
Roman muse, belong to other climes, and our own
fields do not know them.

While engaged in the pursuit of flowers, or in general
observations of nature, our attention is attracted to the
notes and movements of the birds. and we cannot fail
to remark that there is a lively garrulity among the
feathered tribes at this time, that ceases in the course
of a few weeks. Along with the birds of our own fields
and woods, arrive multitudes of little strangers, that
tarry with us in their journey to a higher latitude,
where they go to build their nests and rear their young.
They are commonly assembled in loose flocks, chirping
and singing almost incessantly; and in the sheltered
woodland valleys, whither they resort for protection
from the cold winds, the whole air resounds with their
garrulous melody. Among these are multitudes of a
species of snow-bird, (fringilla hudsonia,) a little slate-
colored sparrow, often seen in winter in company with
other snow-birds. The song of this species consists of
but few notes, which are very melodious, and when
poured forth by a whole multitude in chorus, are ex-
ceedingly delightful. Associated with these, are num-

EARLY FLOWERS. 105

bers of a species of brown finch or bunting, (fringilla
canadensis,) that join their still more melodious notes
to the general medley ; and perhaps at no season of the
year are we greeted with a louder chorus than during
the latter part of April, when these cheerful birds are
migrating to their northern haunts.

In the latter part of the month the signs of promise
that were hung out upon the heavens and displayed
upon the landscape, begin to be fulfilled. Flowers are
more frequent in our paths through the fields, and the
light green plaited leaves are conspicuous in the shrub-
bery. The song-sparrow is weaving her nest in some
grassy knoll at the edge of the wood, the robin has
commenced his early morning song, and the bluebird is
exploring the hollows of old trees for his summer habi-
tation. Every warm shower adds new verdure to the
plain, and every morning sun opens new tribes of
flowers and revives new hosts of sportive insects. The
ploughman is already in the field. He has scattered his
early seeds upon the ground; and man and all other
creatures are rejoicing in the happy anticipation of. that
season which annually restores for a brief period the
buoyaney and hopefulness of our early years.

AIYV.

PLEA FOR THE BIRDS.

—_~—

Ix the beginning, according to the testimony of the
“ Wisdom of Solomon,” all things were ordered in
measure, number, and weight. The universe was bal-
anced according to a law of harmony, no less wise
than beautiful. There was no deficiency in one part, or
superfluity in another. As time was divided into sea-
sons and days and years, the material world was
arranged in such a manner that there should be a
mutual dependence of one kingdom upon another.
Nothing was created without a purpose, and all living
things were supplied with such instincts and appetites
as would lead them to assist in the great work of pro-
gression. The kingdoms of nature must ever remain
thus perfectly adjusted, except for the interference of
man. He alone, of all living creatures, has power to
turn the operations of nature out of their proper course.
He alone has the power to transform her hills into for-
tifications, and to degrade her rivers to commercial ser-
vitude. Yet while he is thus employed in revolutioniz-
ing the surface of the earth, be might still work in
harmony with nature’s designs, and end in making it
more beautiful and more bountiful than in its pristine
condition.

PLEA FOR THE BIRDS. 107

In the wilderness we find a certain adjustment of the
various tribes of plants, birds, insects, and quadrupeds,
differing widely from that which prevails over a large
extent of cultivated territory. In the latter new tribes
of plants are introduced by art, and nature, working in
harmony with man, introduces corresponding tribes of
insects, birds, and quadrupeds. Man may with impu-
nity revolutionize the vegetable productions, if he but
allows a certain freedom to nature, in her efforts to
supply the balance which he has disturbed. While
man is employed in restocking the earth with trees and
vegetables, nature endeavors to preserve her harmony
by a new supply of birds and insects. A superabun-
dance of either might be fatal to certain tribes of plants.
T believe the insect races to be as needful in the order
of creation as any other part of nature’s works. The
same may be said of that innumerable host of plants
denominated weeds. But while man is endeavoring to
keep down superfluities, he may, by working blindly,
cause the very evil he designs to prevent. It is not
easy to check the multiplication of weeds and insects.
These, in spite of all direct efforts to check them, will
increase beyond their just mean. This calamity would
not happen, if we took pains to preserve the feathered
tribes, which are the natural checks to the multiplica-
tion of insects and weeds. Birds are easily destroyed ;
some species, indeed, are already nearly exterminated ;
and all are kept down to such a limit as to bear no just
proportion to the quantity of insects that supply them
with food.

Although birds are great favorites with man, there
are no animals, if we except the vermin that infest our
dwellings, that suffer such unremitted persecution.
They are everywhere destroyed, either for food or for

108 STUDIES IN THE FIELD AND FOREST.

the pleasure of the chase. As soon as a boy is able to
shoulder a gun, he goes out day after day, and year
after year, in his warfare of extermination against the
feathered race. He spares the birds at no season and
in no situation. While thus employed, he is encour-
aged by older persons, as if he were ridding the earth of
a pest. Thus do men promote the destruction of one
of the blessed gifts of nature.

If there be proof that any race of animals was
created for the particular benefit of mankind, this may
certainly be said of birds. Men in general are not apt
to consider how greatly the sum of human happiness is
increased by certain circumstances of which we take
but little note. There are not many who are in the
habit of going out of their way, or pausing often from
their labors, to hear the song of a bird, or to examine the
beauty of a flower. Yet the most indifferent would
soon experience a painful emotion of solitude, were the
feathered race to be suddenly annihilated, or were veg-
etation to be deprived of every thing but its leaves and
fruit. Though we may be accustomed to regard these
things as insignificant trifles, we are all pleasingly
affected by them. Let him who thinks he despises a
bird or a flower, be suddenly cast ashore upon some
desert island, and after a lonely residence there for a
season, let one of our familiar birds greet him with a
few of its old accustomed notes, or a little flower peep
out upon him, with the same look which has often
greeted him by the way-side in his own country, and
how gladly would he confess their influence upon his
mind!

But there is a great deal of affectation of indifference
towards these objects, which is not real. Children are
delighted with birds and flowers ;— women, who have

PLEA FOR THE BIRDS. 109

in general more cultivation than men, are no less de-
lighted with them. ‘It is a common weakness of men,
who are ambitious to seem above every thing that
pleases women and children, to affect to despise the:
singing of a bird or the beauty of a flower. But even.
those who affect this indifference are not wholly deaf or:
blind. They are merely ignorant of the influence upon:
their own minds of some of the chief sources of our
pleasures.

It is not entirely on account of their song, their:
beauty, and their interesting habits, that we would set.
so high a value upon the feathered tribes. ‘They are
important in the general economy of nature, without.
which the operation of her laws would be disturbed,
and the parts in the general harmony would be incom-
plete. As the annihilation of a planet would produce
disturbance in the motions of the spheres, and throw
the celestial worlds out of their balance, so would the.
destruction of any species of birds create confusion
among terrestrial things. Birds are the chief and almost
the only instruments employed by nature for checking
the multiplication of insects which otherwise would
spread devastation over the whole earth. They are
always busy in their great work, emigrating from place-
to place, as the changes of the seasons cut off their
supplies.in one country, and raise them up in another..
Some, like the swallow tribe, seize them on the wing,
sailing along the air with the velocity of the winds, and:
preserving it from any excess of the minute species of
atmospheric insects. Others like the creepers and wood-
peckers penetrate into the wood and bark of trees, andi
dislodge the larve before they emerge into the open air..
Besides these birds that do their work by. day, there are:
others, like the whippoorwill tribe, that keep their watch

10

110 STUDIES IN THE FIELD AND FOREST.

by night, and check the multiplication of moths,
beetles, and other noctural insects.

Man alone, as I have before remarked, can seriously
disturb the operations of nature. It is he who turns
the rivers from their courses, and makes the little gurg-
ling streams tributary to the sluggish canal. He destroys
the forests, and exterminates the birds, after depriving
them of their homes. But the insects, whose extreme
minuteness renders them unassailable by his weapons,
he cannot destroy, and nature allows them to multiply,
and to become a scourge to him, as if in just retribu-
tion for his cruelty to the feathered races who are his
benefactors.

In the native wilderness, where man has not inter-
fered with the harmonious operations of nature, the
insects are kept down to a point, at which their num-
bers are not sufficient to commit any perceptible rava-
ges. The birds, their natural destroyers, are allowed to
live, and their numbers keep pace with the insects they
devour. In cultivated tracts, on the contrary, a different
state of things exists. Man has destroyed the forests,
and raised up gardens and orchards in their place. The
wild pasture has become arable meadow, and the whortle-
berry grounds have been changed into corn fields. New
races of beetles and other insects, which are attached to
the cultivated vegetables, increase and multiply in the
same proportion. If man would permit, the birds that
feed upon these insects would keep pace with their
increase, and prevent the damage they cause to vegeta-
tion. But too avaricious to allow the birds to live, lest
they should plunder fruit enough to pay them the wages
for their useful labors, he destroys the exterminator of
vermin, and thus to save a little of his fruit from the
birds, he sacrifices his orchards to the insects.

PLEA FOR THE BIRDS. 111

If any species of birds were exterminated, those
tribes of insects, which are their natural food, would
become exceedingly abundant. Inasmuch as the atmos-
phere, if the swallows were to become extinct, would
be rendered unfit for respiration, by an increased multi-
tude of gnats and smaller insects,—so were the spar-
row tribes to become extinct, vegetation would imme-
diately suffer from an increase of caterpillars, curculios,
and other pests of our orchards. We may say the same
of other insects with relation to other birds. It is there-
fore plainly for the interest of the farmer and the horti-
culturist to use all means for the preservation of birds
of every species. There is no danger likely to arise
from their excessive multiplication. The number of
each species cannot exceed that limit, beyond which
they could not be supplied with their proper and natural
food. Up to this limit if they could always be pre-
served, our crops would be effectually secured from the
ravages of insects. The country would probably sup-
port double the present number of every species of
birds, which are kept down below their proper limits, by
accident, by the gun of the sportsman, and by the mis-
chievous cruelty of boys.

Most of the smaller kinds of birds have a disposition
to congregate around our villages. You seldom find a
robin or a sparrow, during breeding time, in the deep
forest. It is the same with the insects that serve them
for food. There are tribes of insects that chiefly fre-
quent the wild woods; these are the prey of wood-
peckers and their kindred species. There are others
which are abundant chiefly in our orchards and gar-
dens; these are the prey of bluebirds, sparrows, wrens,
and other common and familiar birds.

Man has the power to diminish the multitudes of

112 STUDIES IN THE FIELD AND FOREST.”

insects that desolate the forests and destroy his har-
vests; but this can be effected only by preserving the
birds. Nature has endowed them with an instinct that
leads them to congregate about his habitations, as if
she designed them to protect him ‘from the scourge of
noxious vermin, and to charm his ears by the melody of
their songs. Hence every tract which is inhabited by
man is furnished with its native singing bird, and man
is endowed with a sensibility which renders the har-
mony of sounds necessary to his happiness. The
warbling of birds is intimately associated with every
thing that is beautiful in nature. It is allied with the
dawn of morning, the sultry quiet of noon, and the
pleasant hush of evening. There is not a cottage in
the wilderness, whose inmates do not look upon the
birds, as the chief instruments of nature to inspire them
with contentment in their solitude. Without their
merry voices, the silence of the groves, unbroken save
by the moaning of the winds, would be oppressive ; the
fields would lose half their cheerfulness, and the forest
would seem the very abode of melancholy. ‘Then let
our arms, designed only for self-defence, no longer
spread destruction over the plains; let the sound of
musketry no longer blend its discord with the voices of
the birds, that they may gather about our habitations
with confidence, and find in man, for whose pleasure
they sing and for whose benefit they toil, a friend anda
protector.

XV.

THE SINGING BIRDS AND THEIR SONGS.

THE singing birds are universally regarded as the
most interesting part of animated creation; and they
are the only creatures, excepting a few of the insect
tribe, that can be said to sing. Their voices are asso-
ciated in our minds with all the beautiful scenes of na-
ture and with the fairest seasons of the year. There is
no man, however insensible he may be to the sound of
musical instruments, who is not delighted with the
warbling of birds, who speak the language of nature
and of love. The birds of temperate climates are be-
lieved to be better singers than those species that in-
habit the tropics. This opinion, generally correct, has
probably arisen partly from the fact that a large propor-
tion of the birds that winter in the tropics, belong to
the temperate latitudes, and that they are silent during
this period, because it is not their breeding season.
They sing only in summer, when they return to their
native climes to rear their young. The tropics are al-
ways full of these sojourners, because there is winter at
all times, either north or south of them,

Singing birds are found in the greatest numbers on
cultivated, or half cultivated lands, or in woods in the

10*

114 STUDIES IN THE FIELD AND FOREST.

vicinity of them. It may, therefore, be inferred, that as
the country grows older, and is more extensively culti-
vated, the numbers of our warblers will increase; and
it is not improbable that their vocal powers may be im-
proved. Hence it may be true, that for many years,
after the first settlement of this country, there were but
few singing birds of those species which at the present
time are so numerous, having multiplied with the in-
crease of human population and the culture of the wil-
derness. At that early period, though the same species
existed here, and were musical, their numbers might
have been so small that one could be seldom heard.
By this circumstance travellers were led to believe that
there were but few singing birds in America.

A little observation would soon convince one that the
wilderness affords comparatively but few warblers.
There you find crows, woodpeckers, jays, and other
noisy birds, in great numbers; and you occasionally
hear the notes of the solitary thrushes and flycatchers ;
but not until you are in the vicinity of orchards and
plantations, are your ears saluted with a full band of
feathered musicians. The common bobolinks are sel-
dom found in the deep forests, and are unfrequent in
the wild pastures and meadows. Their chief places of
resort are the cultivated grass lands. ‘They build their
nests on the ground in the midst of the tall grass, and
these nests are exposed, in great numbers, by the scythe
of the haymaker. These birds, before America was
settled by the Europeans, and when the greater part of
the country was a wilderness of woods, must have been
comparatively few. There are probably thousands at
the present day to as many hundreds that existed in the
time of Columbus. The common robins, the song-spar-
rows, the grass-finches, and indeed all our familiar birds,

THE SINGING BIRDS AND THEIR SONGS. 115

have probably increased in the same ratio, with the
progress of agriculture and the settlement of the
country.

The song of birds is undoubtedly innate; or rather,
birds of the same species have, by their organization, a
predisposition to utter certain sounds, when under the
influence of certain emotions. Besides their native
notes, they will learn those of other birds, when con-
fined with them, which they sometimes blend with their
native strains. ‘The bobolink, when caged, readily learns
the song of the canary, and surpasses the original; but
in his wild state he never deviates from his own pecu-
liar medley. There is reason to believe that nature has
provided each species of bird with notes, unlike those
of other species, as a means by which individuals
should be enabled to identify their own kindred. When
confined in a cage all birds may become imitative, and
in a measure forgetful of their original strains.

‘The song of the bird seems to be the means used by
the male, not only to woo the female, but to call her to
himself when absent. Before he has chosen his mate,
he sings more loudly than at any subsequent period.
The different males of the same species seem, at that
time, to be vying with one another; and probably the
one that has the loudest and most varied song is most
likely to be soon attended by a mate. While the two
birds are employed in building their nest, the male con-
stantly attends his partner from place to place, and
sings less loudly and less frequently than before. This
comparative silence continues until the female begins
to sit on her eggs. While she is sitting, the male again
sings more loudly and incessantly, perched upon some
neighboring beugh, as if to apprise her of his presence,
or perhaps with some inclination to entice her away

*

116 STUDIES IN THE FIELD AND FOREST.

from the nest. It is a curious fact that male birds
seem to be somewhat displeased with the female
while she is sitting, and are more than usually vocifer-
ous.

After the young brood is hatched, the attention of the
male bird is occupied with the care of his offspring,
though he is far less assiduous in his parental duties
than the female; and, for a season he becomes some-
what silent, until a second incubation commences.
But those species that rear only one brood in a season,
become entirely silent after the young birds are fledged
and have left the nest. Should they rear another brood,
the male becomes once more as vocal as ever while his
mate is sitting the second time. He does the same, if
he happens to lose his mate, when he becomes again
very tuneful and vociferous, uttering his call-notes
loudly for several days, and finally changing them into
song. Hence it would seem that the song of the bird
proceeds from a certain degree of discontent, arising
first, from his want of a mate, and secondly, from his
uneasiness on account of her absence while sitting
upon her eggs. The buoyancy of spirits produced by
the delightfulness of the season, and the full supply of
his physical wants, is joined with the pains of absence
which he is striving to allay. I have often thought that
the almost uninterrupted song of caged birds proves
their singing to be no certain evidence of happiness,
and that it chiefly arises from a desire to entice a com-
panion into their own little prison. It is well known
that when an old bird from our own fields is caught
and caged, he will continue his tunefulness long after
all others of the same species, who enjoy their freedom,
have become silent. The bobolink, in a state of free-
dom, seldom sings after the middle of July; but if one

THE SINGING BIRDS AND THEIR SONGS. 117

be caught and caged, he will continue to warble more
loudly than he did in his native fields, until Septem-
ber.

The notes of birds in general, seem to be arranged
without regard to the intervals of the musical gamut.
You seldom perceive any thing like artificial pauses or
gradations in their time or melody. This proceeds
from no deficiency of musical ear, as every singing bird,
while young, may be taught to warble an artificial
tune. They never dwell steadily on one note, but are
constantly sliding and quavering, full of slurs and ap-
poggiaturas. There are some species whose notes ap-
proximate to the artificial modulation; but it is worthy
of notice that these are not classed among singing birds.
The whistling quail utters three notes in his call — the
two first alike, except in time, and the third a slide
from these to a perfect fifth. The notes of the whip-
poorwill resemble those of the quail, his first note being
a minor-third above the second, and the third note a
fourth above the first, the third note being more perfectly
intonated than that of the quail. The common chicka-
dee, or blackcap titmouse, frequently in summer utters
two notes which make a perfect minor-third on the de-
scending scale. It is not improbable that if the notes
of the singing birds could be accurately written down
on the gamut, they might be found to possess a regu-
larity of modulation, corresponding to that which we
call the artificial one.

The lark and the nightingale, which have been made
so familiar to us by our acquaintance with English
literature, are not inhabitants of America, and their ab-
sence is lamented by every lover of nature. There is a
species of lark that breeds in the vicinity of Labrador
and Hudson’s Bay, which has some of the musical

118 STUDIES IN THE FIELD AND FOREST.

habits of the skylark. But though they have been
occasionally heard to sing in New England, while on
their passage to a southern latitude, in the month of
October, they cannot be reckoned among our own sing-
ing birds. The whippoorwill is our Philomel, though
his .monotonous notes hardly deserve to be called a
song. There is a species of snipe in this country,
which has some of the habits of the skylark, rising like
that bird, both in the morning, and in the evening, just
after dark. After chirping awhile, he commences a
spiral flight upwards, beginning in a wide circle, which
continually narrows as he ascends, until he has arrived
at the summit of his flight. He then sustains himself
in a hovering position for the space of about half a
minute, chattering and chirping very agreeably ; after
which, he descends in a spiral flight to the ground.
This amusement is continued for the space of two or
three hours.

The little hair-bird that sings incessantly in the morn-
ings of spring and early summer, often utters his single
trilling note, at intervals throughout the night, in May
and June; but his notes are not much louder than those
of a grasshopper. The rose-breasted grossbeak, whose
notes I have never had the good fortune to hear, is said
to be a nocturnal warbler. This bird is seldom seen in
the New England States. It is said to frequent the
remote north-west territory; and the species is numer-
ous in the forests along the south shore of Lake Erie,
where it breeds. These birds are said to pass the
greater part of the night in singing, in the most delight-
ful manner.

The ornithologists of the Old and New continents
have long been at variance in their opinions of the com-
parative merits of their native singing birds. Buffon,

THE SINGING BIRDS AND THEIR SONGS. 119

who wrote, not from his own observations, but from the
accounts of travellers, declared the birds of America to
be unmusical. This was the general opinion of Euro-
peans, until Alexander Wilson published his work on
the Birds of the United. States. Wilson was a Scotch-
man, and was familiar with the notes of the European
warblers, having been from his early youth an ardent
lover of nature and a curious observer of the habits of
birds. He pronounced the birds of this continent to be
superior to those of Europe in their powers of song.
Other European naturalists have declared in favor of
their own birds. Audubon subscribes to the opinion of
Wilson; but I am inclined to believe that both of these
naturalists were misled by their own enthusiasm, and
by their attachment to the American birds with whom
they had been so long familiar. I doubt whether we
have a single warbler whose native notes equal those of
the nightingale, or of either the skylark or the woodlark
of Europe. At the same time, I am prepared to say
that I believe no bird on the face of the earth, can be
found, any part of whose song is equal in mellowness,
plaintiveness, and in what is generally understood as
expression, to the five strains, never varied and yet
never tiresome, of the common, little, olive-brown wood-
thrush.

The powers of the American mocking-bird are un-
questionably overrated. His native notes do not differ
materially from those of the ferruginous thrush; but he
has more power and compass than the latter, and is a
more inveterate singer. The mocking-bird has the de-
fect of all the American thrushes, except the wood-
thrush, which is a want of continuity in their song.
Their different strains are separated by a pause which
greatly injures their effect. Hence they appear to be

120 STUDIES IN THE FIELD AND FOREST.

wanting in enthusiasm, never warbling as if in ecstasy,
like the bobolink, the grass-finch, and the canary bird.
The imitative powers of the mocking-bird are chiefly
confined to the imitation of separate sounds. He will
imitate the crying of a chicken, the mewing of a cat,
the whistling of a quail, and the single strains of many
other birds. But he is never heard to give a perfect
imitation of the continued song of any bird whose notes
are difficult of execution. This the bobolink, when
caged, and several other birds, will do to perfection.
The following Table of the comparative merits of the
British singing birds, was prepared by Hon. Daines
Barrington. The Table of the American singing birds,
I have prepared after the manner of Mr. Barrington’s
table, but do not design it as affording any criterion by
which the British birds may be compared with those of
our own country. If these two tables be generally cor-
rect, it will be seen that the thrushes which take the
first rank among American singing birds, take only
about a third rank among those of Great Britain.
Two of the most celebrated warblers among the latter,
—the nightingale and the blackcap,—are Sylvias,
while there is not one species of this tribe in New
England that is remarkable for its powers of song.
The birds that make the greater part of the melody
that pervades our woods and fields in New England,
and which would be the most sadly missed, if their
species were to become extinct, are the common robin,
the grass-finch, the wood-thrush, and the song-spar-

Tow.

THE SINGING BIRDS AND THEIR SONGS. 121.

Table of the comparative merits of British Singing Birds, in which 20
is supposed to be the point of perfection. By Daines Barrington.

a

eee, | 22| ge] se

g° |e le") 8/8
Nightingale ‘ : : 19 | 14 | 19 | 19 | 19
Skylark . . . .. 4/19} 4 | 18 | 18
Wood-lark ‘ ‘ P 18 4} 17 | 12 8
Titlark . é . : 12 12 12 12 12
Linnet , é , 12 | 16 | 12 | 16 | 18
Goldfinch < 4 19 4 12 12
Chaffinch . ‘ 3 4 | 12 4 8 8
Greenfinch . és : 4 4 4 4 6
Hedge Sparrow : : 6 0 6 4 4
Aderdavine, or Siskin . 2 4 0 4 4
Red Poll . : é 0 4 0 4 4
Thrush . ‘ . * 4 4 4 4 4
Blackbird . ‘ 4 4 0 2 2
Robin . 3 é : 6 16 12 12 12
Wren é : ; O92. 0 4 4
Red Sparrow 0 4 0 2 2
Blackcap, or Mock Nightingale, 14; 12 | 12 | 14 | 14

Table of the comparative merits of American Singing Birds, prepared
after the manner of the preceding table, in which 20 is supposed to
be the point of perfection.

é g ba 2 wm g

2/2} €s) fF] 8

oo \ eo |e |
Mocking-Bird . we. Pi 18 | 12 4 19 | 12
Red Thrush . s “ 18 | 10 6 14] 12
Wood-Thrush 19 4 | 19 4 4
Hermit Thrush 18 4 | 12 12] 10
Cat-Bird . 4 4 6 4 6 6
Robin : ‘ ; 18 8 | 10 8 8
Song-Sparrow . : : . 9} 10 | 8 | 16) 16
Grass-Finch . 12) 24, | 12 12] 12
Field Sparrow . 16 8 | 14 10) 10
Hemp Bird F 6 6 4 6 6
American Linnet 2 12) 12 8 8 | 12
Bobolink 10 | 18 0 10 | 12

11

122 STUDIES IN THE FIELD AND FOREST.

TABLE — Continued.

Mellowness
of Tone

Plaintive
Notes.

Wren

Indigo Bird .

Golden Oriole
Bluebird

Whippoorwill
Purple Martin

Red-eyed Vireo’
Common Vireo .

Yellow Throat . ;

WNAANH

+ |Sprightly
Notes.

rs
CDCONNN KEP DED

be

CnmAmMDTTORNSG

Ono OH DO POH Od co |Compass.

row Pw wo B® od co | Execution.

TE month of May is often personified as a beautifull
virgin, in the early ripeness of her charms; and he who
is insensible to female beauty and loveliness, seems to
be endowed with hardly less of the noble attributes of
humanity than he who, without rapture, can behold the
lovely face of nature at the present time. Our spring
does not, like the same season, in ligh northern lati-
tudes, awake suddenly into perfect verdure, out of the
bosom of the snows; but lingers along for more than
two months from its commencement, like that long
twilight of purple and crimson that leads up the morn-
ings in summer. And there is a benevolent provision
for our happiness in this prolongation of the season of
hopes and promises, though frequently interrupted by
short periods of wintry gloom. Anticipation thus pro-
longs its abode in our hearts, and affords us something
like an extension of the period of youth, and! its exhil-
arating fancies.

Our ideas of the month of May, being in a great
measure derived from the descriptions of English poets
and rural authors, abound in many pleasing fallacies..
There are no seas of waving grass and bending grain,

124 STUDIES IN THE FIELD AND FOREST.

in the May of New England; and not until the month
is nearly spent, have the greater part of the forest trees
put forth their blossoms. Nature is not yet clothed in
the fulness of her beauty; but in many respects she is
lovelier than she ever will be in the future. Her very
imperfections are charming, inasmuch as they are the
budding of perfection, and afford us the agreeable sen-
timent of beauty, united with that of progression.
There is a charm in that species of imperfection, which,
so far from implying defect, is but the evidence of
increasing loveliness, and more interesting than perfec-
tion itself, which is necessarily associated with the idea
of discontinued progression.

Tt is the influence of this sentiment that renders a
young girl more lovely and interesting with her unfia-
ished graces, than when she has attained the comple-
tion of her charms. But by confounding imperfec-
tion with defect, we are often led to admire even the
foibles of youth, under the vain conceit, that a foible
may ripen into a virtue. As the buds only of a plant
will produce leaves and flowers, and as the tender
spines will never produce any thing but thorns — thus
in the youthful character, it is only the unripened and
imperfect graces that will ever become virtues, while
the foibles, if not pruned off, will surely harden into
vices.

One of the most agreeable pursuits connected with
the study of nature, is to watch the progress of vegeta-
tion, from the earliest greenness of the landscape, and
the first sprouting of the herbs, unfolding of the leaves,
and opening of the buds, until every herb, tree, and
flower has expanded and brightened into the full radi-
ance of summer. While the earth exhibits only a few
occasional stripes of verdure, along the borders of the

MAY. 125

shallow pools and rivulets, and on the hill-sides, where
they are watered by the oozing fountains just beneath
the surface, we may observe the beautiful drapery of
the tasselled trees and shrubs, varying in color from a
light yellow, to a dark orange or brown, and robing the
swamps with a flowery splendor, that forms a striking
contrast with the general nakedness of the plain. As
the hues of this drapery fade by the withering of the
catkins, the leaf buds of the trees gradually put off
their scaly coverings, in which the infant bud has been
cradled during the winter; and the tender fan-shaped
leaves in plaited folds and of different hues, come forth
in millions, and yield to the whole forest a golden and
ruddy splendor, like the tints of the clouds that curtain
the summer horizon. ‘Though there is an indefinable
beauty in the infinitely varied hues of the foliage at
this time, yet this is far from being the most attractive
spectacle of the season. While the trees are expand-
ing their leaves, the earth is daily becoming greener
with every night-fall of dew, and thousands of flowers
awake into life with every morning sun. At first a
few violets appear on the hill-sides, increasing daily in
numbers and brightness, until they are more numerous
than the stars of heaven; then a single dandelion, that
appears but as the harbinger of millions in less than a
week — all gradually multiply, and bring along in their
rear a countless troop of anemones, saxifrages, gerani-
ums, buttercups, columbines, and everlastings, until the
landscape is gemmed with the universal wreath of
spring.

One of the earliest flowering shrubs of the season,
and one of the most beautiful, on close inspection, with
its evergreen, myrtle-like foliage, its slender drooping
branches, and its long rows of white cup-shaped blos-

11*

126 STUDIES IN THE FIELD AND FOREST.

soms, like those of the lily of the valley, is the low
andromeda. It is the first of its elegant tribe: it grows
along the borders of ponds and meres, and is in flower
as soon as the first of May. Similar in beauty to the
andromeda, and appearing very early on the turf that
covers the edges of the gray rocks, we observe a very
delicate and humble shrub, which, if it bore no fruit,
would be greatly prized for its flowers. It is the low
blueberry, one of the prettiest vernal ornaments of our
barren hills. It seldom rises a foot in height, and is
gemmed with thick clusters of little flower-cups, of a
pearly whiteness, slightly tinged with red. This hum-
ble shrub is rapidly succeeded by all the varieties of the
blueberry, until the hills are all glowing with their
blossoms, and the whole atmosphere is perfumed with
their fragrance. These are the shrubs in our land that
most nearly resemble the heaths, those most exquisite
of nature’s floral productions, which are not to be found
among our native plants.

May opens with a few blossoms of the coltsfoot, the
liverwort, the buckbean, and the Solomon’s seal; and
quite a multitude of a humble species of blue violets,
of the kind that delights in sprinkling the grassy mounds
in our country graveyards, are scattered over the
southern slopes of the pastures. After May-day, every
morning sun is greeted by a fresh troop of these little
fairy visitants, until every knoll sparkles with them, and
every pathway is embroidered with them, as if they
were planted there on purpose to cheer the heart of
man. At an early period the green pastures are so full
of dandelions and buttercups, that they seem to be
smiling upon us from every border. Children are
always greatly delighted with these flowers, and they
cannot look upon them without sudden emotions of

MAY. 127

cheerfulness and hilarity. After these flowers have
appeared, our eyes, as they wander over the village
landscape, will rest upon hundreds of young children,
on a sunny afternoon, who have left their active sports,
to gather these brightest gems of the season, with
which they have associated many interesting supersti-
tious conceits, and whose novelty gives them a tenfold
value in their sight. Soon after this, the fields appear
in the fulness of their vernal splendor; wild geraniums
in the borders of the woods and copses, white and yel-
low violets, ginsengs, bellworts, cornels, silverweeds, and
cinque-foils bring up the rear in the procession of May;
and during all this time, those little flowers, which have
been very aptly chosen as the symbols of innocence
(the Houstonia cerulea) commencing in the latter part of
April, with a few scanty blossoms, grow every day
more and more abundant, until their countless millions
resemble a thin but interminable wreath of snow-flakes,
distributed over the hills and plains.

The air, at this time, is scented with every variety of
perfumes, and every new path in our rambling brings
us into a new atmosphere, as well as a new prospect.
It is during the prevalence of a still south wind, that
the herbs and flowers exhale their most agreeable odors.
Plants generate more fragrance in a warm air, on
account of the greater rapidity of their growth ; and if
the wind is still and moist, the odors as they escape,
do not rise so high, and are not so widely dissipated,
being retained nearer the surface of the earth, by mixing
with the invisible moisture of the atmosphere. The
best time for rambling, if we would breathe the sweet
odors of flowers, is when a perfect calm prevails among
the elements, when the weather is rather sultry, and

128 STUDIES IN THE FIELD AND FOREST.

while the beams of the sun are tinged with a kind of
ruddy glow, by shining through an almost invisible
haze. A blind man might then determine by the per-
fumes of the air, as he was led over the country,
whether he was in meadow or upland, and distinguish
the nature of the vegetation with which he was sur-
rounded. There is a constant change of odors, as we
pass from one place to another, and the fragrance of the
atmosphere yields no inconsiderable part of the pleasure
of an excursion, in the month of May.

Now let the dweller in the city who, abounding in
all luxurious possessions, sighs for that contentment
which his wealth has not procured, come forth from the
dust and confinement of the town, and pay a short
visit to nature in the country. Let him come in the
afternoon, when the declining sun casts a beautiful
sheen upon the tender leaves of the forest, and while
tens of thousands of birds are chanting in full chorus,
from an overflow of those delightful sensations, that fill
the hearts of all creatures, who worship nature in her
own temples, and do obedience to her beneficent laws.
I would lead him to a commanding view of the lovely
prospect, that he may gaze awhile upon those objects,
which he has so often admired on the canvas of the
artist, exhibited here in all their living beauty. While
the gales are wafting to his senscs the sweet perfumes
of the surrounding groves and orchards, and the notes
of warbling birds are echoing all around in harmonious
confusion, I would point to him the neat litile cottages,
which are dotted about, like palaces of content in all
parts of the landscape. I would direct his attention to
the happy laborers in the field, and the neatly dressed,
smiling, ruddy, and playful children, in their green and

MAY. 129

flowery inclosures, and before the open doors of the
cottages. I would then ask him if he is still ignorant
of the cause of his own unhappiness, or of the abun-
dant sources of enjoyment, which nature freely offers
for the participation of all her creatures.

XVI.

WOOD SCENERY IN MAY.

During the space of one year, the woods present to
the eye of the spectator five different aspects, corre-
sponding with the infancy, the youth, the maturity, the
tinting, and the dropping of the foliage. The first is
the appearance assumed by the woods, when putting
out their tender plaited leaves and blossoms in May,
up to the time when they are fully expanded; the
second when nearly all the trees have attained their
brightest verdure, as in June, but exhibit a nearly uni-
form shade; the third in midsummer and later, when
their verdure is less brilliant, and when each species
and individual have acquired that particular shade of
green that respectively characterizes them ; the fourth
is the appearance they assume when the leaves have
acquired those variegated tints that precede their fall,
and which are erroneously attributed to the action of
frost; the fifth and last is the naked appearance of the
winter forest, when the evergreens alone retain their ver-
dure. These ever changing aspects of the woods are
sources of continual pleasure to the observer of nature,
and have in all ages afforded themes for the poet, and
subjects for the painter.

FOREST SCENERY. 131

Of all these phases, the one that is presented to the
eye in the month of May is by far the most delightful,
on account of the infinite variety of tints and shades
in the budding and expanding Jeaves and blossoms, and
the poetic relations of their appearance at this time to
one of the most agreeable sentiments of the human
soul. I allude to the idea of progression combined
with the image of hope and activity. Nothing adds so
greatly to the charms of a scene in nature, as any thing
which is palpably suggestive of some pleasing moral
sentiment. It is this quality that gives half their beauty
to certain flowers; and the unfolding leaves and ripen-
ing hues of vegetation require no forced effort of in-
genuity, to make apparent their analogy to the period
of youth, and the season of hope; neither are the fad-
ing tints of autumn any less suggestive of life’s decline.
There are not many, however, who would not prefer
the lightness of heart that is produced by these emblems
of progression, and these signals of the reviving year,
to the more poetic sentiment of melancholy, inspired
by the scenes of autumn.

Among the different species of trees and shrubs, there
is a notable difference in their habits of leafing and
flowering; some wreathing their flowers upon the naked
branches, before the expansion of the leaves, like the
peach-tree, the elm, and the maple; others putting forth
their leaves and flowers simultaneously, like the apple-
tree and the cherry; others acquiring their full green
vesture, before the appearance of their flowers, as the
lilac, the elder, the rose, and the viburnum. When we
observe these multiplied and beautiful arrangements, we
cannot avoid associating them with the benevolence of
nature; and we are prone to regard her as an affec-
tionate parent who has instituted these phenomena, in

132 STUDIES IN THE FIELD AND FOREST.

order to present at all times the greatest amount of
beauty to the eye, and to guard us from all that weari-
ness that is sure to follow the long continuance of one
unchangeable source of pleasure.

There is manifestly some connection between the
tints of the half developed spring foliage, and those we
observe in the decline of the year. The leaves of
nearly all the trees and shrubs that are brightly colored
in autumn, present a similar variety of tints in their
tender-plaited foliage in May. This is very remarkable
in the different species of the oak, whose half-developed
leaves are deeply marked with purple, violet, and yel-
low stains, that fade entirely out as the leaf ripens and
expands. Similar hues may be observed in the tender
branches of many shrubs, as in those of the sumach,
before they are hardened into wood. The young leaves
of the whortleberry bushes, of the cornels, the sumachs,
and viburnums, all brightly tinted in autumn, with pur-
ple, crimson, and orange, exhibit lighter shades of the
same colors in their half expanded foliage.

The locust, on the contrary, unmarked by a single
tint in the autumn, is seen arrayed in a light verditure
at this season, unmixed with any other hues. The wil-
lows that incline to yellow after the harvest, show, in
their vernal leaf, the same yellow tinge, that gives them
a remarkably lively hue. Their golden aments add to
this brilliancy, which is also in harmony with their light
green and silvery spray. The birches have the same
brilliant verdure, contrasted with the dark purple of
their small branches, that renders their hues the more
distinct and beautiful. It is all these different tenden-
cies in the hues of the expanding foliage, that afford
the woods such a charming variety of shades during
the present month; and it seems to be the design of

FOREST SCENERY. 133

nature to foretoken, in the infancy of the plants, some
of those habits that mark both their maturity and their
decline, by giving them a faint shade of those colors
that distinguish them in autumn.

If we take our stand on an elevation that overlooks
an extensively wooded country, which is diversified
with way-side trees and orchards, we may witness the
full charm of this variety. The elms, which in this
part of the country are chiefly found by our road sides,
and in the inclosures of ouy dwellings, have shed their
brown and purple blossoms; and their light greem foli-
age, varying greatly in individuals, is mostly observed!
in solitary masses, or in occasional rows along the
streets. The elm is in the perfection of its beauty at
this time, when its verdure is marked by a brilliancy
that fades before midsummer. After June, the foliage
of the elm is dull and lifeless in its hues; and the tree
is beautiful only on account of the flowing outline and
graceful sweep of its branches.

If we next turn our eyes upon the woods, we may
behold a spectacle of infinitely varied splendor. Masses.
of purple and cinereous foliage are presented by the
‘oaks, enlivened by the bright green aments, that hang
luxuriantly from their branches. Among them are:
interspersed the purer and more lively green of the:
beech-trees, rendered still more light and airy by their’
pale ashen stems; also the slender spiry forms of the
birch, whose purple sprays afford by contrast, a peculiar
lustre to their shining verdure, from the lofty black birch.
that overtops the other forest groups, to the graceful
coppices of white birch, whose leaves already exhibit
their tremulous habit, when fanned by the passing
winds.

Though we cannot find in May those brilliant colors.

12

134 STUDIES IN THE FIELD AND FOREST.

among the leaves of the forest trees, which are the
crowning glory of autumn, yet the present month is
more abundant in contrasts than any other period.
These contrasts increase in beauty and variety until
about the first of June. In early May, set apart from
the general nakedness of the woods, may be seen, here
and there, a clump of willows full of bright golden
aments, maples with buds, blossoms, and foliage of
crimson, and interspersed among them, junipers, hem-
locks, and other evergreens, that stand out from their
assemblages, like the natives of another clime. As
the month advances, while these contrasts remain, new
ones are continually appearing, as one tree after another
assumes its vernal drapery, each exhibiting a tint
peculiar not only to the species, but often to the indi-
vidual and the situation, until hardly two trees in the
whole wood are alike in color. As the foliage ripens,
the different shades of green become more thoroughly
blended into a single uniform tint. But ere the process
is completed, the fruit-trees have expanded their blos-
soms, and have brought a new spectacle of contrasts
into view. First of all, the peach-trees with their bright
pink flowers, that appear before the leaves, and cause
the tree to resemble a single and uniform bouquet:
then the pear-trees, with corols of perfect whiteness,
internally fringed with brown anthers, like long dark
eyelashes, that give them almost the countenance of
life; then the cherry-trees, with their pure white blos-
soms, thickly enveloped in green foliage; and last of
all, the apple-trees, with blossoms of every variety of
shade, between a bright crimson or purple and a pure
white, all come forth, one after another, until the whole
landscape seems to be wreathed in bloom.

During the last week in May, were you to stand on

FOREST SCENERY. 135

an eminence that commands an extensive view of the
country, you would be persuaded that the prospect is
far more magnificent than at midsummer. At this
time you look not upon individuals, but groups. Before
you lies an ample meadow, nearly destitute of trees
except a few noble elms, standing in their blended
majesty and beauty, combining in their forms the grace-
fulness of the palm with the grandeur of the oak; here
and there a clump of pines, and long rows of birches,
willows and alders bordering the streams that glide
along the valley, and exhibiting every shade of green-
ness in their foliage. In all parts of the prospect,
separated by square fields of tillage of lighter or darker
verdure, according to the nature of their crops, you
behold numerous orchards, some on the hill-side receiv-
ing the direct beams of the sun, and others on level
ground, exhibiting their shady rows with their flowers
just in that state of advancement that serves to show
the budding trees, which are red and purple, in beauti-
ful opposition to the fully blown trees, which are white,
Such spectacles of flowering orchards are seen in all
parts of the country, as far as the eye can reach, along
the thinly inhabited road sides and farms.

The effect produced by the flowering of trees is less
conspicuous in our forests than in our orchards and
gardens; but the dazzling whiteness of the Florida
cornel, rising up amidst the variegated masses of forest
verdure, attracts the attention of every traveller. The
flowering trees of our forests are chiefly of the amen-
taceous tribes, whose flowers serve rather to add gayety
and variety to their tints, than any positive beauty of
colors. Among the shrubbery, however, there are many
species that are made attractive by their blossoms, and
yield to the pastures and coppices a more beautiful

136 STUDIES IN THE FIELD AND FOREST.

appearance than any thing we have observed in the
woods. While the woods are still gleaming with the
variegated tints of the sprouting foliage, you may behold,
rising up in solitary brightness, arrayed with a pro-
fusion of white flowers and silvery green leaves, the tall
branches of the swamp pyrus, a shrub that bears the
earliest flowers and fruits of the forest. The pyrus is
the forerunner of many beautiful flowering shrubs.
After this appear in succession the common thorn, with
its white rosaceous flowers in lovely circular clusters ;
the barberry, with its golden racemes fringing the
branches from their extremities, almost to their roots;
the wild dwarf cherry, with its spikes of gaudy but
delicate blossoms arranged fantastically at right angles
with the twigs that support them ;—all these appear
one after another, until at length, as if nature was
desirous of concentrating all our admiration upon a
single plant, appears the beautiful Canadian rhodora,
which marks the era of the departure of spring, and the
commencement of the reign of summer.

In striking opposition to the scenes I have described,
we may observe in different parts of the country a
densely wooded swamp, with the tops of the trees
hardly towering above the level of the surrounding
landscape, covered with the dark green sombre foliage
of northern cypresses. Even this renders the remain-
ing prospect more cheerful, by acting as a foil to the
pleasant scenes that everywhere surround us. The
very notes of the birds seem to harmonize with the
character of the wood, and serve to enliven the con-
trasts that are presented to the eye. In the open flow-
ery plain we hear thousands of chattering and musical
birds — the wren in the gardens, the merry bobolink in
the grassy meadows, and the oriole among the blos-

FOREST SCENERY. 137

soms of the fruit-trees, while from the dark cypress
groves we hear the scream of the jay, the eawing of the
raven, blended occasionally with the liquid notes of the
sylvias and solitary thrushes.

By making such observations, one may be satisfied
that upon our barren hills nothing could be substituted,
that would equal in any respect of beauty and orna-
ment, the trees and shrubs which are indigenous to the
situation. The practice of Great Britain, operating
as an example to American improvers, has been fatal
to the beauty of many a delightful spot in our own
country. The native garniture of our own fields, mod-
ified by the hand of man, as exemplified in certain
tracts to be seen in every old settlement, exceeds all
which the combined wealth and taste of Great Britain
could rear in the place of it. Vain are all attempts to
improve the face of nature by dressing her in ornaments
borrowed from a foreign clime. That taste which rec-
ommends a system of improvements based upon any
principle, save that of preserving the whole indigenous
growth of our fields and woods, is barbarous, and will
ultimately be spurned with indignation, by every true
lover of beauty and of nature.

12*

XVII.

ON MULTIPLYING THE BIRDS AROUND
OUR DWELLINGS.

THE presence of birds as companions of a country
residence is considered by all a desirable circumstance,
second only to woods, flowers, green fields, and the
general advantages of prospect. Without birds, the
landscape, if not wanting in beauty, would lack some-
thing which is necessary to the happiness of all men
who are elevated above a state of gross sensualism. It
is indeed highly probable that nature owes more to the
lively motions, songs, and chattering of birds, for the
influence of her charms, than to any other single accom-
paniment of terrestial scenery. They are so intimately
associated with all that is delightful in field and forest,
with our early walks in the morning, our rest at noon-
day, and our meditations at sunset, with the trees that
spread their branches over our heads, and the vines and
delicate mosses at our feet, that it is difficult to think
of the one apart from the others. Through the voices
of birds nature may be said to speak to us, and without
them she would be but a dumb companion, whose
beauty could hardly be felt.

It is customary, when speaking of the advantages of

BIRDS AROUND OUR DWELLINGS. 139

birds, to treat of them as they have relation to the agri-
cultural interest. Admitting the value of almost every
species as destroyers of insects, I am disposed to con-
sider their importance in this respect as only secondary
to that which regards their pleasant companionship
with man. Hence it is a matter of no small conse-
quence to use the best means that have been discovered,
to preserve the birds from destruction, and to multiply
them about our dwellings. Very little attention has
been paid to this subject. A few laws have been made
for their preservation; but these have seldom been en-
forced. Occasionally a paragraph in the newspapers
has pleaded for their protection; but as yet no full and
elaborate essay, devoted to this object, has made its ap-
pearance. I believe the farmer would promote his own
thrift by extending a watchful care over the lives of
every species of birds; but the smaller tribes are con-
sidered the most useful. And it would seem as if na-
ture had given them their beauty of plumage, and
endowed them with song, on purpose to render them
attractive, that man might thereby be induced to preserve
a race of creatures so necessary to his pleasures, and so
valuable to his interest.

There are two methods of preserving the birds: the
first consists in omitting to destroy them; the second in
promoting the growth of certain trees, shrubs, and
other plants on which they depend for shelter and sub-
sistence. The birds, considered in relation to trees and
shrubbery, may be divided into two classes. First, the
familiar birds that live in our orchards and gardens, and
increase in numbers in proportion as the woods are
cleared, and the lands devoted to tillage. To this class
belong several of our sparrows, the wren, the bluebird,
the American robin, the bobolink, the linnet, the yellow-

140 STUDIES IN THE FIELD AND FOREST.

bird, and some others. The second are the less familiar
birds that frequent the woods and wild pastures, and
which would probably be exterminated by reducing the
whole forest to park or tillage. Among these may be
named the little wood-sparrow, one of the sweetest
of American songsters, nearly all the thrushes, the
towee-finch, and many of the sylvias, and wood-
peckers.

To preserve the first of these species little is neces-
sary to be done except to avoid destroying them; but
to insure the multiplication of the second, we must
study their haunts, the substances provided by nature
for their food, the plants that afford them shelter, and to
a certain extent labor to preserve all these for their use.
The little wood-sparrow is never heard in the heart of
our ‘villages, unless they are closely surrounded by
woods. Yet this bird does not live in the woods. He
frequents the pastures which are overgrown with wild
shrubs, and their undergrowth of vines, mosses, and
ferns, that unite them imperceptibly with the green-
sward by which they are surrounded. He is always
found in the whortleberry pastures, and probably makes
his repast on these simple fruits, in their season. He
builds his nest on the ground, in a mossy knoll, under
the protection of a thicket. Every bird is more or less
attached to a particular character of grounds and
shrubbery; and if we destroy this character, we drive
this particular species from our neighborhood, to seek in
other places its natural habitats. Hence we may
account for the comparative silence that pervades the
grounds of some of our most admired country-seats ;
for with respect to the wants of even our most familiar
birds, it is possible that cultivation may be carried too
far.

BIRDS AROUND OUR DWELLINGS. 141

There is no danger that, for many years to come, our
lands will be so entirely stripped of their native growth
of herbs, trees, and shrubs, as to leave the birds without
their natural shelter. But there is danger that they may
be wholly driven out of particular localities, and that
the inhabitants may thereby be deprived of the presence
of many delightful warblers. In all the densely popu-
lated districts, the want of them would be the more
painfully felt, because they contain a greater number of
cultivated people who can appreciate these blessings of
nature. Let us then proceed in our inquiry concerning
the means by which we may multiply the birds around
our habitations.

In every locality in which all the native species of
birds are abundant, we find the following conditions : —
First, there is a large proportion of cultivated land, nu-
merous and thrifty orchards, extensive, fields of grass
and grain, all well provided with watercourses. When
these conditions are present, the familiar birds already
named will be numerous. If these cultivated lands are
intermingled with pastures abounding in thickets and
wild shrubbery, and all the indigenous undergrowth be-
longing to the same, we may then hear the voices of the
less familiar birds, which are in many respects superior
in song to the tenants of our orchards and gardens.
Wild shrubbery and its carpet of grasses, vines, mosses,
and other cryptogamous plants, form the condition that
is necessary to the preservation of the half-familiar
tribes. If, with all these circumstances, the land has a
good proportion of wood in its primitive state, or in
one resembling it, not divested of its undergrowth, con-
taining a large variety of oaks, maples, pines, junipers,
sumachs, and cornels, we may find the wood-thrush, the
hermit-thrush, the redstart, the oven-bird, the creeper,

142 STUDIES IN THE FIELD AND FOREST.

the jay, and woodpeckers of various species whose
habitats are the wild woods.

Among the shrubs that are most useful to the birds
may be named in general all that produce a wholesome
seed or fruit. The viburnums, the cornels, all the
species of the whortleberry tribe, the elder, the Celas-
trus scandens, and the common sumachs, are always
abundant where there are goodly numbers of the less
familiar birds. Among the herbs and smaller plants
that are useful to them are the Solomon’s seal, the
partridge berry, the Mitchella repens, the dewberry, or
evergreen blackberry, and. all the indigenous grasses.
If we clear our woods of their undergrowth, and con-
vert them into parks, we do in the same proportion
diminish the numbers of certain species of birds. A
partial clearing is undoubtedly beneficial even to the
most solitary tribes, by promoting a greater variety of
vegetation. But the removal of all this miscellaneous
undergrowth would serve as effectually to banish the
red-thrush, the catbird, the wood and hermit-thrush, and
many species of sylvias, as we should extirpate the
squirrels by destroying all the oaks, beeches, hazels,
hickories, and chestnuts,

One of the principal ornaments of a country-seat is
lawn. A smooth shaven green is delightful to the eye,
at all times, especially when just emerging from the
city, or after one has been for some hours rambling
among the rude scenes of nature. But lawn is a
luxury that is obtained at the expense of all birds that
nestle in the ground and the low shrubbery. The
scythe may be as great an exterminator of such birds,
as the gun of the fowler. The song sparrows build
their nest upon the ground, in the most familiar places,
where they can feel secure from disturbance. Not a

BIRDS AROUND OUR DWELLINGS. 1438

rod from our dwellings these little birds may have their
nests, if the right conditions are there. They are com-
monly built on the side of a mound, where the grasses
and mosses are overrun with blackberry vines and wild
rose-bushes. Familiar as they are, they do not nestle
among exotics. He who would entice them to breed in
his inclosures must not be too particular in preserving
that kind of neatness in his grounds, which consists in
eradicating every native shrub and wild briar, as a use-
less weed.

Hedge-rows, though often ignorantly supposed to be
the nurseries of birds, are really great checks to their
multiplication. A hedge-row cannot be well maintained
without care in keeping its roots clear of grass and
other herbage, which are important to the birds; and
the habit of clipping it renders it almost barren of fruit.
I am inclined to think that, for pleasing effects, no less
than for the benefit of the birds, the most desirabie
fence is one made of rough small timber passed through
upright posts. I would then encourage the growth of
all kinds of native shrubbery, on each side of it, form-
ing a miscellaneous hedge, the more agreeable because
unshorn by art. It is this spontaneous growth of shrub-
bery and other wild plants that constitutes one of the
picturesque charms of the old New England stonewall.
We seldom see one that is not covered on each side,
more or less, with roses, brambles, spirea, viburnums,
and other native vines and shrubs, so that in some of
our open fields, the stonewalls, with their accompani-
ment of vines, flowers, and shrubbery, are the most
attractive objects in the landscape. Along the base of
these walls, where the plough does not reach, nature
calls out the rue-leaved anemone, the violet, the cranes-
bill, the bellwort, the delicate pink convolvulus, and

144 STUDIES IN THE FIELD AND FOREST.

many other native flowers of exceeding beauty, while
the rest of the field is devoted to tillage.

An ignorant agricultural boor, whose mind was never
taught to stray beyond the barnyard or potato-patch,
might grudge nature this narrow strip on each side of
his fences, though she never fails to crowd it with
beauty. I have seen indeed intelligent farmers who
seemed to consider it an offence against neatness and
order, to allow nature these little privileges, and who
employed their hired men to keep down every plant that
dared to peep out from underneath the fence, without a
license from the cultivator. By encouraging this mis-
cellaneous growth of woody and herbaceous plants on
each side of every rustic fence, we provide an important
means of security for the birds, and supply them, in the
close vicinity of our dwellings, with an abundance of
those seeds and berries which are necessary for their
subsistence.

Such a miscellaneous hedge-row would constitute a
perfect aviary for certain species of birds; and the ad-
vantages they would confer upon the farmer, by ridding
his land of noxious insects, would amply compensate
for the space thus left unimproved. The farmer seldom
raises any crops in this narrow space; but, like the dog
in the manger, he neither uses it himself nor will he
leave it to nature and the birds. Once in two or three
years, he lets a fire run over it; or, at an expense which
is entirely useless to himself, he wantonly cuts down
every beautiful thing that springs up there to remind
him, while employed in the labors of the field, of the
primitive charms of nature.

A common hedge-row would oceupy as much space
as this rustic fence, including the plants on each side of
it; and no clipped hedge-row could be made half so

BIRDS AROUND OUR DWELLINGS. 145

beautiful as one formed by this wild thicket of vines
and bushes, growing at liberty, and wreathing an end-
less variety of blossoms and foliage around and over
the fence. Then might we hear the notes of the wood-
sparrow and the yellow-throat in the very centre of our
villages, and hundreds of little birds of different species
would cheer us by their warbling, where at present only
an occasional solitary one is seen. From the windows
of our dwelling-houses we might also observe the habits
of many rare birds that would soon acquire an un-
wonted familiarity, by having their. abodes in the busy.
neighborhood of man.

By thus extending our protection to the birds we
make no sacrifice of land, and we lay the foundation °
for certain contrasts, that must affect every beholder
with a pleasing emotion. A happy contrast is one of
the most striking circumstances either in a landscape
or a work of art. Hence rugged hills, rising suddenly
out of a level and fertile plain, are more interesting
than general undulations of surface; and how much
soever we may admire a tract of land in a high state of
improvement, it is delightful while rambling over it to.
find a little miniature wilderness, or a plat of ground
covered with the spontaneous productions of nature..
It is equally pleasing, on the other hand, when we are-
roaming a forest, where every thing that grows is wild
and primitive, and where the only birds we hear are the:
shy and timid thrushes and sylvias, to encounter a little:
farm in a perfect state of cultivation, and a neat cottage,.
surrounded by the familiar birds of our orchards and,
gardens. These strips of wild vegetation bordering the:
fences would form a pleasant contrast with the culti-
vated lands, and the contrast would be beautiful in pro-

13.

146 STUDIES IN THE FIELD AND FOREST.

portion to the entire primitive character of the one and
the high state of improvement of the other.

From the earliest. period of our history, it has been
customary among our people to encourage the multi-
plication of swallows, by the erection of bird-houses in
their gardens and inclosures. This custom was prob-
ably derived from the aborigines, who were in the habit
of furnishing a hospitable retreat for the purple martin,
by fixing hollow gourds or calabashes upon the branches
of trees near their cabins. It is generally believed that
these active little birds serve, by their unceasing annoy-
ances, to drive away the hawks and crows from their
vicinity, performing thereby an essential service to the

‘farmer. This pleasing and useful custom has of late
years grown unaccountably into disuse. The chatter-
ing of swallows is one of the delightful accompani-
ments of a vernal morning; and that of the martin, in
particular, is the most enlivening of all sounds from
animated nature. As the birds of the swallow tribe
subsist upon insects that inhabit the atmosphere, it is
not in our power to increase their means of subsistence.
Hence the only means we can use for increasing their
numbers is to supply them with a shelter and retreat.
By such appliauces it would be easy to keep their num-
bers up to a level with the quantities of insects that
constitute their prey.

The wren and the bluebird are encouraged by simi-
lar accommodations. But as these birds are not social
in their habits, a separate box must be supplied for each
pair of birds. The wren is an indefatigable destroyer
of insects, and one of the most interesting of our fa-
miliar songsters, singing like the vireo, during the heat
of the day, when most other birds are silent. ‘The blue-

BIRDS AROUND OUR DWELLINGS. 147

bird, which is hardly less familiar, delights in the hollow
branch of an old tree in the orchard, but would be
equally satisfied with an artificial imitation of the rude
conveniences supplied him by nature.

If we observe all these requirements, when employed
in tilling a farm or in laying out a country-seat, we do
but avoid the destruction of those beautiful relations
which nature has established throughout the earth.
The plough and the scythe may do their work for man,
without interfering with the wants of those creatures
whom nature has appointed as the enliveners of his
toil. Every estate might be made to represent the
whole country, in its tilled fields and cultivated lawn,
with their proper admixture of forest, thicket, and primi-
tive herbage. Then, while sitting at.our windows, the
eye would be delighted by the sight of little coppices
of wild shrubbery, with their undergrowth of mosses,
ferns, and Christmas evergreens, rising in the midst of
the smooth lawn, and in charming opposition to the
flower beds, that are distributed in other parts of the
ground. In these miniature wilds, the small birds
would find a shelter, suited to all their wants and in-
stincts, and in return for our hospitality, would act as
the sentinels of our orchards and gardens, and the
musicians to attend us in our daily labor and recrea-
tions.

ALREADY do we feel the influence of a more genial
sky; a maturer verdure gleams from every part of the
landscape, and a prouder assemblage of wild flowers
reminds us of the arrival of summer. The balmy south-
west reigns the undisturbed monarch of the weather;
the chill breezes rest quietly upon the serene bosom of
the deep, and the ocean, as tranquil as the blue canopy
of heaven, yields itself to the warm influences of the
summer sun, as if it were conscious of the blessing of
his beams. The sun rides, like a proud conqueror, over
three quarters of the heavens; and as if delighted with
his victory over the darkness, smiles with unwonted com-
placency upon the beautiful things which’ are rejoicing
in his presence. Twilight refuses to leave the brows of
night; and her morning and evening rays meet and blend
together at midnight, beneath the polar sphere. She
twines her celestial rosy wreaths around the bosoms of
the clouds, that rival in beauty the terrestrial garlands of
summer. The earth and the sky seem to emulate each
other in their attempts to beautify the temples of nature
and of the Deity; and while the one is hanging out her
drapery of silver and vermilion over the sapphirine arches

JUNE. 149

of the firmament; the other is spangling the green
plains and mountains with living gems of every hue,
and crowns the whole landscape with lilies and roses.

The mornings and evenings have acquired a delight-
ful temperature, that invites us to rise prematurely from
our repose, to enjoy the greater luxury of the balmy ,
breezes. The dews hang heavily upon the herbage,
and the white frosts have gone away to join the proces-
sion of the chill autumnal nights. The little modest
spring flowers are half hidden beneath the prouder foli-
age of the flowers of summer; the violets can hardly look
upon you from under the broad leaves of the fern; and
the anemones, like some little unpretending beauty in
the midst of a glittering crowd, are scarcely observed as
they are fast fading beneath the shade of the tall shrub-
bery. The voice of the early song sparrow and the
tender warbling of the bluebird, are but faintly audi-
ble amidst the chorus of louder warblers; the myriads
of piping creatures are silent in the wet places, and the
tree-frogs, having taken up their song, make a constant
melodious croaking, after nightfall from the wooded
swamps. The summer birds have all arrived; their
warbling resounds from every nook and dell; thousands
of their nests are concealed in every grove and orchard,
among the branches of the trees, or-on the ground
beneath a tuft of shrubbery ; egg-shells, of various hues,
are cast out of their nests, and the callow young lie in
the open air, exposed to the tender mercies of the genial
month of June.

The season of anticipation has passed away; the
early month of fruition has come; the hopes of our
vernal morning have ripened into realities; we no
longer look into the future for our enjoyments, but we
revel at length in all those pleasures, from which we

13*

150 STUDIES IN THE FIELD AND FOREST.

expected to derive a perfect satisfaction. The month
of June is emblematical of the period of life that im-
mediately succeeds the departure of youth, when all
our sources of enjoyment are most abundant, and our
capacity for the higher kinds of pleasures has attained
maturity, and when the only circumstance that damps
our feelings, is the absence of that lightness of heart,
arising from a hopeful looking forward to the future.
Our manhood and our summer have arrived; but our
youth and our spring have gone by; and though we
have the enjoyment of all we anticipated, yet with the
fruition hope begins to languish, and in the present
exists the fulness of our joys. The flowery treasures,
foretokened by the first blue violet, are blooming around
us; the melodious concert, to which the little song
sparrow warbled a sweet prelude in March, is now
swelling from a full band of songsters, and the sweet
summer climate that was harbored by an occasional
south wind has arrived. But there is sadness in fruition.
With all these voluptuous gales and woodland min-
strelsies, we cannot help wishing for a renewal of those
feelings with which we greeted the first early flower,
and listened to the song of the earliest returning bird.

Nature has thus nearly equalized the enjoyments of
every season. When our actual joys are least abun-
dant, fancy is near at hand, to supply us with the vis-
ions of those pleasures, of which we cannot enjoy the
substance ; filling our souls in spring with the hope of
the future; comforting us in autumn with the memory
of the past, and amusing us in winter, with a tranquil
retrospection of the whole year, and the pleasant watch-
ing for the dawn of another spring.

A change has taken place in the whole aspect of the
woods, since the middle of the last month. The light

JUNE. 151

yellowish green of the willows and thorns, the purple
of the sumach and the various hues of other sprouting
foliage have ripened into a dark uniform verdure. The
grass as it waves in the meadows, gleams like the bil-
lows of the. ocean; and the glossy surfaces of the ripe
leaves of the trees as they tremble in the wind, glitter
like millions of imperfect mirrors in the light of the
sun. The petals of the fading blossoms are flying in
all directions, as they are scattered by the fluttering
gales, and cover, like flakes of snow, the whole surface
of the orchards. The flowers of innumerable forest
trees are in a state of maturity, and the yellow dust
from their flower-cups, scattered widely over the earth,
may be seen after showers, covering the edges of the
beds of dricd water-pools, in yellow circular streaks.

The pines and other coniferous trees are in flower
during this month; and the golden hues of their blos-
soms contrast beautifully with the deep verdure of their
foliage. These trees, like others, shed their leaves in
autumn ; but it is the foliage of the preceding year that
falls, leaving that of the last summer still upon the
trees. This foliage is very slowly perishable, and covers
the earth where it falls, during all the year, with that
brown, smooth, and fragrant carpet, which is so charac-
teristic of a pine wood. Among the flowers which
are conspicuous on this brown matted foliage is the
purple ladies-slipper, whose inflated blossoms often burst
upon the sight of the rambler, as if they had risen
up by enchantment. In similar haunts the trien-
talis, unrivalled in the peculiar delicacy of its flowers,
that issue from a single whorl of pointed leaves, sup-
ported upon a tall and slender footstalk, never fails to
attract the attention of the botanist and the lover of
nature.

152 STUDIES IN THE FIELD AND FOREST.

Our gardens, during the first of this month exhibit few
exotics more beautiful than the Canadian Rhodora, an
indigenous shrub, which is at this time in full flower in
the wild pastures. It is from two to five feet in height,
and. its brilliant purple flowers, unrivalled in delicacy, ap-
pear on the extremities of the branches, when the leaves
are just beginning to unfold. It is rendered singularly
attractive by the contrast between its purple hues, of
peculiar resplendency, and the whiteness of the flowers
of almost all other shrubs, at this season. This plant,
by its flowering marks the commencement of summer,
and may be considered an apt symbol of the brilliant
and unrivalled charms of the month of June.

June is also the month of the Arethusas — those
most charming flowers of the peat meadows — belong-
ing to a tribe that is too delicate for cultivation. Like
the beautiful birds of the forest, they were created for
nature’s own temples; and the divinities of the wood,
under whose invisible protection they thrive, will not
permit them to mingle with the multitude that grace
the parterre. The cymbidiun, of a similar habit, the
queen of the meadows, with larger flowers and more
numerous clusters, the crimson orchis, that springs up
by the river-sides, among the myrtle-like foliage of the
craneberry and the nodding panicles of the quaking
grass, like a spire of living flame; and the still more
rare and delicate white orchis, that hidden in certain
mossy dells in the woods, seldom feels the direct light
of the sun, are all alike consecrated to nature and to
solitude, as if they were designed to cheer the hearts
of her humble votaries, with the sight of some thing
that had not been appropriated for the exclusive adorn-
ment of the garden and the palace.

The rambler may already perceive a difference in the

JUNE. 153

characteristics of the flowers of this month and of the
last. In May the prominent colors were white and the
lighter shades of purple and lilac, in which the latter
were but faintly blended. In June the purple shades
predominate in the flowers, except those of the shrubs
which are mostly white. The scarlet hues are seldom
seen until after midsummer. The yellows seem to be
confined to no particular season, being conspicuous in
the dandelion, ranunculus, and coltsfoot of spring; in
the potentillas, the senecios, and the loosestrifes of sum-
mer, and in the sunflowers, goldenrods, and many other
tribes of autumn.

One of the most charming appearances of the present
month, to one who is accustomed to the minute obser-
vation of nature’s works, is the flowering of the grasses.
Though this extensive tribe of plants is remarkable in
no instances for the brillianey of its flowers, yet there is
no tribe that exhibits more beauty in their aggregations ;
some rearing their flowers in a compact head, like the
herd’s grass and the foxtail; others spreading them out
in an erect panicle, like a tree, as the orchard grass and
the common redtop; others appearing with a bristling
head, like wheat and barley ; and a countless variety of
species, with nodding panicles, like the oat and the
quaking grass. The greater number of the gramineous
plants are in flower at the present time, and there are
no other species which afford more attractions, to those
who examine nature with the discriminating eye of
science.

He who is accustomed to rambling is now keenly
sensible of that community of property in nature, of
which he cannot be deprived. The air of heaven is
acknowledged to belong equally to all, and cannot be
monopolized ; but the land is apportioned into tracts

154 STUDIES IN THE FIELD AND FOREST.

belonging to different owners, and the majority perhaps
do not own a rood. Yet to a certain extent, and in a
very important sense, the earth, the trees, the flowers,
and the landscape are common property. He who
owns a fine garden enjoys but little advantage over him
who is without one. We are all free in this country to
roam over the wide fields and pastures; we can eat of
the fruits of the earth, and feast our eyes on the beau-
ties of nature, as well as the owner of the largest pos-
sessions, A man is not poor, who while he possesses
the comforts of life, is thus capable of enjoying the
blessings of nature. His possessions are not circum-
scribed by fences and boundary lines. All the earth is
his garden — cultivated without expense, and enjoyed
without anxiety. He partakes of these bounties which
cannot be confined to a legal possessor, and which
Providence as a compensation to those who are worn
with toil, or harassed with care, spreads out to gladden
them with renewed hopes, and to warm their hearts
with gratitude and benevolence.

June is of all months of the year the most delightful
period of woodland minstrelsy. With the early birds
that still continue their warbling, the summer birds
have joined their louder and more melodious strains.
Early in the morning, when the purple light of dawn
first awakens one from sleep, and while the red rays
that fringe the eastern arches of the sky, with a beauti-
ful tremulous motion are fast brightening into a more
dazzling radiance, we hear from the feathered tribe the
commencement of their general hymn of gladness.
There is first an occasional twittering, then a single
performance from some early waker, then a gradual
joining of voices, until at length there is a full chorus
of song. Every few minutes some new voice joins in

JUNE. 155

the concert as if aroused by the beginners and excited
by emulation until thousands of melodious voices seem
to be calling us out from sleep, to the enjoyment of life
and liberty. .

After the sun has risen nearly to meridian height, the
greater number of the birds that helped to swell the
anthem of morn, discontinue their songs, and a com-
parative silence prevails during the heat of the day.
The vireo, however, warbles incessantly, at all hours of
daylight, from the lofty tree-tops in the heart of the vil-
lages; the oriole is still piping at intervals among the
blossoms of the fruit-trees, and the merry bobolink
never tires, during the heat of the day, while singing
and chattering, as if in ecstasies, above and around the
sitting place of his wedded mate. At the commence-
ment of the sun’s decline, the birds renew their songs ;
but the majority of the more familiar birds that linger
about our orchards and gardens, are far less musical at
sunset than at sunrise. I suppose they may be more
annoyed by the presence of men, who are more accus-
tomed to be out ata late hour in the evening, than at
an early hour in the morning.

The hour preceding dusk in the evening, however, is
the time when the thrushes, the most musical of birds,
are loudest in their song. Several different species of
this tribe of musicians, at a late hour, are almost the
sole performers. The cat-bird, with a strain somewhat
similar to that of the robin, less melodious, but more
varied and quaint in its expression, is then warbling in
those places, where the orchards and the wildwood
meet and are blended together. The red-thrush, a bird
still more retired in his habits, takes his station upon a
tree that stands apart from the wood, and there pours

* 156 STUDIES IN THE FIELD AND FOREST.

forth his loud and varied song, which may be heard
above every other note. A little deeper in the woods,
near the borders of streams, the wood-thrushes, the last
to become silent, may be heard responding to one
another, with their trilled and exquisite notes, unsur-
passed in melody and expression, from the sun’s early
decline, until the purple of twilight has nearly departed.
During all this time, and the greater part of the day,
in the solemn depths of the forest, where almost all
other singing birds are strangers, resounds the distinct,
peculiar, and almost unearthly warbling of the hermit-
thrush, who recites his different strains, with such long
pauses, and with such a varied modulation, that they
might be mistaken for the notes of several different
birds.

At nightfall, though the air is no longer resonant
with song, our ears are greeted with a variety of pleas-
ing and romantic sounds. In the still darkness, apart
from the village hum, may be heard the frequent flut-
tering of the wings of night birds, when the general
silence permits their musical vibrations to resound dis-
tinctly from different distances, during their short, mys-
terious flights. These sounds, to which I used to listen
with ravishment, in my early days, are more suggestive
than music, and always come to my remembrance, as
one of the delightful things connected with a summer
evening in the country. At the same time, in my late
evening rambles, I have often paused, to hear the respon-
sive chirping of the snipes, in the open plains, during
their season of courtship ; and to watch their occasional
whirling flight, as with whistling wings, they soar like
the lark into the skies, to meet and warble together,
above the darkness that envelops the earth. With the

JUNE. 157

same whirling flight, they soon descend again to the
earth, and commence anew their responsive chirping.
These alternate visits to the earth and the skies are
continued for several hours. There is nothing very
musical in the chirping of these birds; and their war-
bling in the heavens, when they have reached the sum-
mit of their ascent, is only a somewhat monotonous
succession of sounds. But when, at this later time of
life, I chance to hear a repetition of their notes, the
whole bright page of youthful adventure is placed
vividly before my mind. ‘It is only at such times, that
we feel the full influence of certain sounds of nature, in
hallowing the period of manhood, with a recollection of
early pleasures, and a renewal of those feelings, that
-come upon the soul like a fresh breeze and the
sound of gurgling waters to the weary and thirsty
traveller.

The evenings are now so delightful that it seems
like imprisonment to remain within doors. Odors,
sights, and sounds are at present so grateful and tran-
quillizing in their effects upon the mind, and so sugges-
tive of all the bright period of youth, that they cannot
be regarded as the mere pleasures of sense. The sweet
emanations from beds of ripening strawberries, from
plats of pinks and violets, from groves of flowering lin-
den-trees, full of myriads of humming insects, from
meadows odoriferous with clover, and sweet-scented
grasses, all wafted in succession with every little shift- -
ing of the wind, breathe upon us one endless variety
of fragrance. Then the perfect velvety softness of
the evening air, the various melodies that come from
every nook, tree, rock, dell, and fountain ; the notes of
birds, the chirping of insects, the hum of bees, the
rustling of aspen leaves, the bubbling of fountains, the

14

158 STUDIES IN THE FIELD AND FOREST.

dashing of waves and waterfalls, and the many beau-
tiful things that greet our vision from earth, sea, and
sky —all unite, as it were, to yield to mortals, who
hope for immortality, a foretaste of the unspeakable
joys of paradise.

bee

A SUMMER NIGHT IN THE WOODS.

‘WEN the decline of day is plainly perceptible in the
lengthened shadows of the trees, and the more refresh-
ing coolness of the atmosphere, many species of birds,
that since morning have been silent, commence anew
their vocal revelry. Evening comes not unattended by
the same captivating splendors that usher in the morn,
and the same melodies that herald her approach. As
she descends from her pavilion of crimson and amber,
to spread her twilight over the landscape, calling down
the gentle dews from heaven and bringing refreshment
to the drooping herbs, the heavens show forth their glad-
ness in the myriad hues of sunset, and all animated
nature raises a shout of music and thankfulness. But
there is a pensiveness about the melodies of evening
that sweetly harmonizes with the sober meditative hour;
and the same birds, that in the morning pour out their
melodious lays as from hearts full of rejoicing, now
whisper them in accents more subdued, like the quiet
breathing of the winds that are loath to disturb the
sleep of the flowers.

Just before the sun’s decline, the thrushes, which are
our proper forest warblers, are unusually tuneful, and con-

160 STUDIES IN THE FIELD AND FOREST.

tinue to sing until dark. The voice of the little wood-
thrush is the last to be heard ; and when his notes have
ceased, the night may be said to have commenced;
though even after this time, the sweet notes of the
grassfinch, (the bush-sparrow,) are occasionally poured
out from some station in the open fields. But in our
woods, at this season, silence does not immediately
ensue. A restlessness prevails among the feathered
tribes, as if they were yet unprepared to renounce the
pleasures of the day. At intervals, for the space of an
hour after dusk, an occasional note of complaint is
heard in the thicket from different birds, a shrill chirp
from some of the little sylvias, the mewing of the cat-
bird among the shrubbery, or the querulous smack of the
red-thrush.

Suddenly, when the stillness of the night has become
fully realized, the note of the whippoorwill resounds
through the forest, with a solemn accent that pleasantly
harmonizes with silence and darkness. There is some-
thing in his monotonous song that is disagreeable to
many, who attribute to it a certain power of announc-
ing a coming disaster. Its peculiar measured cadence,
and the mystery that is connected with the bird, cause
his notes to seem like the utterance of some prophetic
message; and it is said that he often tells a tale of sad-
ness that will come before the falling of the leaf. But
to those who assign the bird no oracular powers, and
regard him only as one of the innocent tenants of the
grove, his notes are musical and affecting. The song
of the whippoorwill is a poor substitute for that of the
nightingale; but the melancholy it inspires is just sufh-
cient to be an agreeable emotion, and adds impressive-
ness to the silent scenes around us.

Sometimes, for several minutes, hardly a voice from

SUMMER NIGHT IN THE WOODS. 161

any creature is heard; and the rustling of the night
wind through the tremulous leaves of the birch, or its’
moaning among the high branches of the pines,
resembling the murmurs of distant waters, are the only
sounds that meet the ear. But this dreary stillness is
not of long duration. The droning flight of the beetle,
and the whirring of various kinds of moths that are
busy among the foliage of the trees, are the accompani-
ments of a summer night, suggesting to the fancy the
passing of a ghost, and filling the mind with many mys-
terious conjectures. Sometimes the owl, on his soft
silken wings, glides along with stealthy and noiseless
flight; and we are soon: startled by his peculiar hoot-
ing — a sound which I can imagine must be terrific to
the smaller inhabitants of the woods.

At midnight, in general, the stillness of the winds is
greater than in the daytime, and the gurgling of streams
is heard more distinctly amid the general hush of nature.
Sounds are now the most prominent objects of. atten-
tion; and every noise from distant places booms distinctly
over the plains and hollows. We are affected with a
superstitious feeling, in a lonely place at night, that dis-
poses us to listen with breathless attention to every
sound we cannot immediately explain. A morbid sen-
sibility thus awakened is the cause of that pleasure
which is felt by most persons under similar circum-
stances. It leads the youthful and the bold to seek
midnight adventure, and the more timid to trust them-
selves to those ambiguous situations, where, though no
danger awaits them, the silence and darkness and mys-
tery produce a state of the mind that borders on ecstasy,
and which may be considered the usual mental condi-
tion of the religious devotee.

While pursuing our midnight.contemplations, occa-

14*

162 STUDIES IN THE FIELD AND FOREST.

sionally, during an interval of silence, the night-jar, as
he flies invisibly over our head,* twangs his wings on a
sudden descent through the air in pursuit of his aerial
prey, making a sound that to the superstitious, who are
unacquainted with the habits of the bird, is fearful and
mysterious. The first time I heard this sound, which
resembles the snapping of a viol string, was in my
school-days, when walking homeward with three of my
school-fellows, at midnight, on a solitary turnpike-road.
Not knowing the cause of it, we were affected with a
peculiar sensation of awe, which was not relieved until
daylight revealed to us the birds still circling above our
heads.

Often while thus affected with a sensation of mys-
tery bordering on that of sublimity, and in the midst of
a stillness that is somewhat awful, all serious emotions
will be put to flight, by a sudden chorus of bull-frogs
from a neighboring pool. These sounds, in themselves
inharmonious, are so suggestive of the sweetness and
the quiet of a summer evening in the woods, that they
seldom fail to impress the mind with agreeable emo-
tions. In the course of our midnight saunterings,
when we are near any collection of water, the shriek of
the common green frog is heard incessantly, at short in-
tervals, and the trilling voice of the toad, so continual
by day, occasionally breaks the silence of night. The
common tree-frog, the prophet of summer showers,
which is seldom heard except in damp days, keeps up
a constant garrulity, ending only with sunrise, during
all still nights in the month of June.

There is no perfect stillness on a summer night.

* This sound is said to be produced by the open mouth of the bird,
as he darts swiftly through the air in pursuit of an insect.

SUMMER NIGHT IN THE WOODS. 163

There are gentle flutterings of winds that nestle in the
foliage; mysterious whisperings of zephyrs and hum-
ming of nocturnal insects, that hover around us like
spirits, and seem to interrogate us about the reason of
our presence at this unseasonable hour. We catch the
floatings of distant sounds, mellowed into harmony by
the softening effect of distance, hardly to be distin-
guished from the noise made by a dropping leaf, as it
comes rustling down through the small branches. The
stirring of a little bird, as he preens his feathers upon a
branch just over our heads, and uttering an occasional
chirp; a little quadruped leaping suddenly through the
underwood, and secreting itself hastily among the herb-
age, are trifles that add cheerfulness to the solemn
quietude of night.

I am supposing the night to be perfectly calm; but
how calm soever it may be, now and then a breeze will
pass fitfully overhead, and the trees will shake their
fluttering leaves in the wind. Perfect stillness will im-
mediately follow, save at intervals a whisper is heard
from some unseen object, as if something that had
life was watching your motions, or you had obtained a
faint perception of sounds from the invisible world.

Among the affecting circumstances attending a night
in the woods I must not omit to mention the sounds of
distant bells that proclaim the flight of time. These,
while they add to the solemnity of our feelings, afford a
pleasant assurance of the nearness of human habita-
tions. But the single stroke that tells the hour of mid-
night, as it tolls over the echoing landscape, repeated at
short intervals, from different villages, is peculiarly
solemn and impressive. You then feel that you are
under the very meridian of night, and that darkness is

164 STUDIES IN THE FIELD AND FOREST.

your only protection. The effect of this single toll
upon the mind at such a time cannot be described.

I have as yet spoken only of sounds, which at mid-
night are scarcely more impressive than sights. ‘The
swarms of little fireflies that are wheeling and darting
about in the lowlands are pleasant objects, and are al-
most the only creatures that can be seen, except perhaps
some night bird, as it passes like a dark spot over the
half luminous sky. But these little sparks of insect
life do not aggravate the impressions made by the dark-
ness. There is nothing about them that excites the im-
agination, or exalts the feelings. One can easily
imagine the terror with which the glaring eyes of the
jaguar must be beheld by the midnight traveller in the
South American forest. The eyes of the owl, as seen
through the deep foliage, might produce similar though
inferior impressions; but in our quiet woods imagina-
tion is the source of all the terrors that might be felt on
witnessing any sudden visions of this bird.

The night would afford no mean employment to the
naturalist, if he could but observe the midnight opera-
tions of the still wakeful part of animated nature.
There are many nocturnal insects which, thongh not
easily discovered in the darkness, are then in motion
hovering among the foliage, or seeking the open blos-
som-cup of some flower of the night. At this time
only can the active habits of these creatures be observed,
when even the deep shadows do not protect them from
the bat, the owl, and the goatsucker, who nightly de-
stroy thousands of these beantiful insects, leaving their
torn wings and elegant plumage in the green forest
path, or lodged upon a leafy branch, and marking the
place of their destruction.

SUMMER NIGHT IN THE WOODS. 165

As real objects are but faintly seen, by the same
cause the phantoms of darkness are made visible.
There are many things in the obscurity that assume
dubious and mysterious shapes, and excite the curiosity
blended with some apprehension.’ The branches are
pictured like the forms of birds and quadrupeds on the
sky, and every passing breeze seems to wake them into
life and motion. A beam of light appears on the plain,
or a shadow on the hill, reminding you of the dusky
form of a ghost, as it glides half visibly among the in-
distinct forms of the trees. On a dark night almost all
objects are ambiguous. The trees that stand near the
borders of streams cast faint shadows upon them, that
are often mistaken for some real and indefinable objects
resting upon their starry surface. Every thing that
moves reminds you of a spirit; and many are the unin-
telligible forms that stand around, nodding their heads,
and, as it were, beckoning to some kindred monster.
You feel as if they were aware of your presence, and
were consulting together how they should regard your
intrusion into their dusky haunts. At such times the
creaking of a dry branch of a tree, when swayed by the
wind, will startle you, like the sudden and unexpected
approach of a person behind you.

As night draws near its close, we begin to long for
the’ morn; and the crowing of cocks from some neigh-
boring farm yard affords a pleasant relief to our weari-
ness, and an assurance of the nearness of dawn. The
little hair-bird, that utters his trilling note at intervals
throughout the night, is heard more frequently. At
length an occasional twitter from the birds, that every-
where surround us, announces that morning is visible.
Nature always gives signs of an approaching change;
and morning dawn and evening twilight have their re-

166 STUDIES IN THE FIELD AND FOREST.

spective harbingers, and she usually accompanies them °
with peculiar harmonies from the elements and from
animated things. Thus, by the croaking of the tree-
toad, she announces an approaching shower; by the
chirping of the green nocturnal grasshopper, she pro-
claims the decline of summer; but the feathered tribes
are nature’s favorite sentinels, whom she employs to
herald in the morn.

If we now take our stand on an eminence, where we
can obtain a clear view of the eastern belt of the horizon,
a luminous appearance may be observed, forming a semi-
circle of dim whitish light around the gate of morning,
If a thin veil of clouds overspread the arch, the tints
will be dark in proportion to their distances from the
hidden source of light. Imagine it divided into circles;
—the inner one will be of a light yellow; the next
assumes a tint of gold; beyond that is orange, and as
it extends outwards, it passes through regular grada-
tions of vermilion, crimson, purple, and violet, until it
melts into the azure of the firmament.

XXI.

MORNING IN SUMMER.

—~—

Natur, for the delight of waking eyes, has arrayed!
the morning heavens in the loveliest hues of beauty.
Fearing to dazzle by an excess of light, she first an-
nounces day by a faint and glimmering twilight, then
sheds a purple tint over the brows of the rising morn,.
and infuses a transparent ruddiness throughout the
whole atmosphere. As daylight widens, successive:
groups of mottled and rosy-bosomed clouds assemble
on the gilded sphere, and, crowned with wreaths of fickle
rainbows, spread a mirrored flush over hill, grove, and!
lake, and every village spire is burnished with their
splendor. At length through crimsoned vapors we
behold the sun’s broad disc, rising with a countenance
so serene, that every eye may view him, ere he arrays.
himself in his meridian brightness. Not many people:
who live in towns are aware of the pleasure attending:
a ramble near the woods and orchards at daybreak im
the early part of summer. The drowsiness we feel on:
rising from our beds is gradually dispelled by the clear
and healthful breezes of early day, and we soon experi--
ence an unusual amount of vigor and elasticity. Nature
has so ordered her bounties and her blessings, as to

168 STUDIES IN THE FIELD AND FOREST.

cause the hour which is consecrated to health to be
attended with the greatest amount of charms for all
the senses; and to make all hearts enamoured of the
morning, she has environed it with every thing in
heaven and on earth, that is charming to the eye or to
the ear, or capable of inspiring some agreeable senti-
ment.

During the night the stillness of all things is the cir-
cumstance that most powerfully attracts our notice,
rendering one peculiarly sensitive to every accidental
sound that meets the ear. In the morning, on the con-
trary, at this time of year, we are overwhelmed by the
vocal and multitudinous chorus of the feathered tribe.
If you would hear the commencement of this grand
anthem of nature, you must rise on the very first ap-
pearance of dawn, before the twilight has formed a
complete circle above the eastern porch of heaven.
The first note that proceeds from the little warbling
host is the shrill chirp of the hair-bird, which is occa-
sionally heard at all hours, on a warm summer night.
This strain, which is a continued trilling sound, is re-
peated with diminishing intervals, until it becomes
almost incessant. But the hair-bird has not uttered
mavy notes before a single robin begins to warble from
a neighboring orchard, being soon followed by others,
increasing in numbers, until, by the time the eastern
sky has attained a crimson hue, every male robin in the
country round is singing with fervor.

It would be difficult to note the exact order in which
the different birds successively commence their parts in
this performance ; but the bluebird, whose song is only
a short mellow warble, is heard nearly at the same
time with the robin, and the song-sparrow joins them
soon after with his brief, but finely modulated strain.

MORNING IN SUMMER. 169

The different species follow rapidly, one after another,
in the chorus, until the whole welkin rings with their
matin hymn of gladness. I have often wondered that
the almost simultaneous utterance of so many different
notes should produce no discords, and that they should
result in such complete harmony. In this multitudi-
nous confusion of voices, no two notes are confounded,
and none has sufficient duration to grate harshly with a
dissimilar sound. Though each performer sings only a
few strains and then makes a pause, the whole multi-
tude succeed each other with such rapidity that we hear
an uninterrupted flow of music, until the broad light of
day invites them to other employments.

Before the birds can see well enough to fly, you may
observe, here and there, a single swallow perched on
the roof of a barn or shed, repeating two twittering
notes incessantly, with a quick turn and a hop at every
note he utters. It would seem to be the design of the
bird to attract the attention of his mate, and this
motion seems to be made to assist her in discovering
‘his position. As soon as there is sufficient light to
enable them to fly, this twittering strain is uttered
more like a continued song, as they flit rapidly through
the air. But at this later moment the martins have
commenced their more melodious chattering, so loudly
as to attract for a while the most of our attention.
There is not a sound in nature so cheering and animat-
ing as the voice of the purple martin, and none so well
calculated to drive away melancholy. Though not one
of the earliest voices to be heard, the chorus is percepti-
bly more loud and effective when this bird has united
with the choir.

When the flush of morning has brightened into ver-
milion, and the place from which the sun is soon to

15

170 STUDIES IN TIE FIELD AND FOREST.

emerge has attained a dazzling brilliancy, the robins are
already less tuneful. They are now becoming busy in
collecting food for their morning repast, and one by one
they leave the trees, and may be seen hopping upon the
tilled ground, in qiiest of the worms and insects that
have crept out during the night from their subterranean
retreats. But as the voice of the robins has ceased, the
bobolinks commence their vocal revelries; and to a fan-
ciful mind it might seem that the robins had gradually
resigned their part in the performance to the bobolinks,
not one of which commences until some of the former
have concluded their songs. The little hair-bird still
continues his almost incessant chirping, the first to com-
mence and the last to quit the performance. Though
the voice of this bird is not very agreeably modulated,
it blends harmoniously with the notes of other birds,
and greatly increases the charming effect of the whole
combination.

It would be tedious to name all the birds that take
part in this chorus, but we must not omit the pewee,
with bis melancholy ditty, occasionally heard like a
short minor strain in an oratorio; nor the oriole, who is
really one of the chief performers, and who, as_ his
bright plumage flashes upon the sight, warbles forth a
few notes so clear and mellow, as to be heard above
every other sound. Adding a pleasing variety to all
this harmony, the three notes of the meadow lark, ut-
tered in a shrill tone, and with a peculiarly pensive
modulation, are plainly audible, with short rests between
each repetition. But he does not soar into the skies
like the European lark, and is not generally regarded as
one of our singing birds.

There is a little brown sparrow, resembling the hair-
bird, save that his plumage has a general tint of russet,

MORNING IN SUMMER. 171

that may be heard distinctly among the warbling host.
He is never found in cultivated grounds, but frequents
the wild pastures, and is the bird that warbles so sweetly
at midsummer, when the whortleberries are ripe, and the
fields are beautifully spangled with red lilies. There is
no confusion in the notes of his song, which consists of
one syllable rapidly repeated, but increasing in rapidity,
and rising to a higher key towards the conclusion. He
sometimes prolongs his strain, when his notes are
observed to rise and fall in succession. These plain-
tive and expressive notes are very loud and constantly
repeated, during the whole hour that precedes the rising
of the sun. A dozen.warblers of this species, singing
in concert, and distributed in different parts of the field,
form perhaps the most delightful part of the woodland
oratorio to which we have yet listened.

As the woods are the residence of a tribe of musi-
cians that differ from those we hear in the open fields
and orchards, one must spend a morning in each of
these situations, to obtain a hearing of all the songsters
of daybreak. For this reason I have said nothing of
the thrushes, that sing chiefly in the woods and solitary
pastures, and are commonly more musical in the early
evening than in the morning. I have confined my
remarks chiefly to those birds that frequent the orchards
and gardens, and dwell familiarly near the habitations
of men.

At sunrise, hardly a robin is to be heard in the whole
neighborhood, and the character of the performance has
completely changed during the last half hour. The
first part was more melodious and tranquillizing, the
last more brilliant and animating. The grassfinches,
the vireos, the wrens, and the linnets have joined their
voices to the chorus, and the bobolinks are loudest in

172 STUDIES IN THE FIELD AND FOREST.

their song. But the notes of birds in general are not so
incessant as they were before sunrise. One by one
they discontinue their lays, until at high noon the bob-
olink and the warbling flycatcher are almost the only
vocalists to be heard in the fields.

Among the agreeable accompaniments of a summer
morning walk are the odors from the woods, the herb-
age, and the flowers. At no other hour of the day is
the atmosphere so fragrant with their emanations. The
blossoms of almost every species of plant are just un-
folding their petals, after the sleep of night, and their
various offerings of incense are now poured out at the
ruddy shrine of morning. The .objects of sight and
sound are generally the most expressive in a descrip-
tion of nature, because seeing and hearing are the intel-
lectual senses. But the perfumes that abound in dif-
ferent situations are hardly less suggestive than sights
and sounds. Let a person who has always been
familiar with green fields and babbling brooks, and who
has suddenly become blind, be led out under the open
sky, and how would the various perfumes from vegeta-
tion suggest to him all the individual scenes and objects
which have been imprinted on his memory!

There is a peculiar feeling of hope and cheerfulness
that comes to us on a summer morning walk, and sends
its happy influence over all the rest of the day. The
pleasant stillness, apart from the stirring population ;
the amber glow of heaven that beams from underneath
successive arches of crimson and vermilion, constantly
widening and brightening into the full glory of sun-
rise ; the consciousness of having gained an hour of the
time usually devoted to sleep; above all, the melodious
concert of warblers from every bush and tree, constantly
changing its character by the silence of the first per-

MORNING IN SUMMER. 173

formers and the joining of new voices —all conspire to
render the brief period from dawn to sunrise a consc-
crated hour, and to sanctify it to every one’s memory.
TI am inclined to attribute the healthfulness of early
rising to these circumstances, rather than to the doubt-
ful salubrity of the dewy atmosphere of morn. The
exercise of the senses while watching the beautiful
gradations of colors, through which the rising luminary
passes ere his full form appears in sight, is attended
with emotions like those which might be supposed to
attend us at the actual opening of the gates of Para-
dise. We return home, after this ramble, with a heart
warmed by new love for the beautiful objects of nature,
and with all our feelings so harmonized by the sweet
influences of morn, as to find increased delight in the
performance of our duties and the exercise of our aftec-
tions.

15*

Tur month of temperate breezes and interminable
verdure, has given place to a season of parching heat
and sunshine, which has seared the verdant brows of
the hills, and driven away the vernal flowers that
crowned their summits. They have all fled from the
uplands to escape the heat and drought, and have
sought shelter in wet places or under the damp shade
of woods. Many of the rivulets that gave animation
to the prospect in the spring, are now marked only by
a narrow channel, filled with, a luxuriant growth of
herbs, that follow its winding course along the plain;
and the shallow pools that watered the early cowslips,
are transformed into meads of waving herbage. Mill-
ions of bright flowers are nodding their heads over the
tall grass; but we scarcely heed them; for they seem
like the haughty usurpers of the rightful dominion of
the meeker flowers of spring. The cattle have taken
shelter under the canopy of trees, to escape from the
hot beams of the sun, and many of them may be seen
standing in the pools and the margins of ponds, for re-
freshment and protection from insects. All animated

JULY. 175

nature is indulging a languid repose, faint and ex-
hausted with the sultry heats of July.

As June was peculiarly the month of music and
flowers, July is the harvest month of the early fruits;
and though the man of feeling would prefer the last
month, the present certainly offers the most attractions
to the epicure. Strawberries are in their ripest abun-
dance, and fill the air with fragrance even more delicious
than their fruit. While these are becoming scarce, the
raspberry bushes that embroider the walls and fences,
hang out their ripe red clusters of berries, where the
wild rose and the elder flower scent the air with their
healthful fragrance. The rocks and precipices, so lately
crowned with the early flowers, are beautifully festooned
with thimbleberries, that spring out in tufts from their
mossy crevices, half covered with green umbrageous
ferns. Ripe fruits hang in abundance from the bram-
bles that creep over the green hill-sides, like so many
garlands of beads around the bosom of nature, and
there is no spot so barren, that it is not covered with
something that is beautiful to the sight, or grateful to
the sense. The little bell-flowers, that hung in profu-
sion from the low blueberry bushes, whose beauty and
fragrance we so lately admired, are transformed into
azure -fruits, that rival the flowers in elegance. Nature
seems to be inviting all her children to partake of the
pleasures of sense, and would convert us all into epi-
cures, by changing into delicious fruits, those beautiful
things we contemplated, so lately, with a tender senti-
ment, allied to that of love. Summer is surely the sea-
son of epicurism, as spring is that of a more refined
and spiritual enjoyment, Nature has pow bountifully
provided for every sense. The trees that afford a pleas-
ant shade, are surrounded with an undergrowth of frujt-

176 STUDIES IN THE FIELD AND FOREST.

ful shrubs, and the winds that fan the brows, come
laden with odors which they have gathered from beds
of roses, sweetbriers, and fragrant viburnums. Gold-
finches and humming-birds peep down upon us, as they
are flitting among the green branches of the trees, and
gilded butterflies settle upon the flowers at our feet, and
charm our eyes by the union of life and beauty. In
the pastures, that are sparkling with an abundant pro-
duce of wild fruits, the red lilies and downy spiraea
appear in glowing profusion; and young children who
go out into the fields to gather these simple luxuries,
after having filled their baskets with fruit, crown their
arms with bouquets of lilies, laurels, and honeysuckles,
rejoicing over their bounty, during the happiest, inas-
much as it is the most simple and natural period of their
lives.

The glory of our woods and pastures, at this season,
is the mountain-laurel, (kalmia latifolia,) one of the
most magnificent flowering shrubs of any climate. It
is preceded by a more humble plant of the same tribe,
—the low laurel, or lambkill, bearing whorls of bright
crimson flowers, bound like a wreath around the stem,
beneath a tuft of green leaves that terminate the branch.
It grows in open pastures, and in favorable situations
attains an almost unrivalled beauty. The flowers of
the mountain-laurel are equally beautiful at a distance,
and upon minute examination, combining, in. the
highest degree, those qualities so seldom united, splen-
dor and delicacy. These brilliant lowers young people
have always delighted to blend with trailing evergreens,
in the decoration of halls for their July festivities, and
being truly an American species, they deserve more
than any other plant to represent in America, the cele-
brated bay-laurel of the Romans.

JULY. 177

There is no more agreeable recreation, at this season,
than a water-excursion upon a wood-skirted pond, when
its alluvial borders are brightly spangled with water-
lilies, and the air is full of delicate incense, from their
sweet-scented double flowers. The pewit may be seen
gliding, with nimble feet, upon the broad leaves that
float upon the surface of the waters, so lightly as hardly
to impress a dimple on the glossy sheen; and multi-
tudes of fishes are gambolling among their long stems,
in the clear depths below. Among the fragrant white
lilies are interspersed the more curious, though less deli-
cate flowers of the yellow lily; and in clusters, here and
there upon the shore, where the turf is dank and tremu-
lous, the purple sarracenias bow their heads over lands
that never felt a plough. The alders and birches cast a
beautiful shade upon the mirrored surface of the borders
of the lake, the birds are singing melodiously among
the bushes, and clusters of ripe raspberries overhang
the banks within our reach, as we sail along their
shelvy sides.

But we listen in vain in our rural excursions, at this
time, for the songs of multitudes of birds that were so
tuneful a few weeks since. The chattering bobolink,
merriest bird of June, has become silent; and he will
soon doff his black coat and yellow epaulettes, and put
on the russet garb of winter. His voice is heard no
more in concert with the general anthem of nature; he
has become silent with all his merry kindred; and in-
stead of the lively notes, poured out so merrily for the
space of two months, we hear only a plaintive chirping,
as the birds wander about the fields in scattered parties,
no longer employed in the cares of wedded life. From
cheerfyl songsters, apparently devoted to the entertain-
ment of others, they are metamorphosed into selfish

178 STUDIES IN THE FIELD AND FOREST.
ft

beings, employed only in providing for their own physi-
cal wants. But there are several of our most melodi-
ous warblers that still remain tuneful. The little wood-
sparrow sings more loudly and with a more varied
strain than ever; the vireos and wrens still enliven the
village gardens, with their almost unceasing lays, and
the hermit-thrush, from his deep sylvan retreats, still
utters his liquid strains, in the reverberating solitudes of
the woods.

In the place of the birds, myriads of chirping insects
have sprung into life, and pour forth, during the heat of
the day, a continual din of merry voices. Day by day
are they stringing their harps anew, and leading out a
fresh host of musicians, and making ready to gladden
the days of autumn with the fulness of their songs.
At intervals, during the hottest.of weather, we hear the
peculiar spinning note of the harvest fly, a species of
locust, beginning low, and with a gradual swell, increas-
ing in loudness for a few seconds, and then slowly dy-
ing away into silence. These sounds are vividly asso-
ciated in my mind, with the pleasures and languish-
ments of a summer noonday; of cool shades apart
from sultry heats; of soft repose beneath the embower-
ing canopies of willows, or grateful repasts of fruit in
the summer orchard. There are likewise many sounds
in themselves disagreeable, which are relatively pleas-
ing. The hoarse unmusical note of the bull-frog, while
we are sauntering about the streams and lowlands, on
a sultry afternoon, produces an agreeable effect upon
the mind, by pleasing suggestions of soft breezes, still
waters, twilight scenery, and all the sweet accompani-
ments of a summer evening.

The season of haymaking has arrived; the mowers
are already busy in their occupation; and the whetting

JULY. 179

of the scythe blends harmoniously with the pleasant
rural sounds of animated nature. The air is filled with
the fragrance of new mown hay —the dying incense-
offering of the troops of flowers that perish beneath the
fatal scythe. Many are the delightful remembrances to
those who have spent their youth in the country, con-
nected with the labors of haymaking. :In moderate
summer weather, there is no more delightful occupation.
Every toil is pleasant that leads us out into green fields,
and serves to fill the mind with the cheerfulness of all
living things. But this employment, so agreeable to
one who makes it only the amusement of a few leisure
hours on a pleasant day, becomes, at certain times, a
very laborious toil.

Often in the middle of a clear sunny afternoon, the
western horizon is suddenly mantled with dark clouds
tising rapidly, that threaten to spoil all the last day’s
labor of the haymakers. Then all hands are summoned,
and there is a general scrambling to gather the hay into
stacks or to load it into barns. The rumbling thunder
at a distance, is constantly rousing them from every
relaxation of their efforts, and ere they have completed
their task, the scarce and heavy drops warn them to
seek shelter within doors. Immediately the rain de-
scends in torrents, and the whole atmosphere is envel-
oped in darkness, that renders more glaring the fre-
quent vivid flashes, that precede the awful voice of
heaven.

Soon, when the sun comes forth, as in a new morn-
ing, from behind his late pavilion of clouds and dark-
ness, the rainbow appears in the opposite firmament,
and the whole landscape smiles beneath its variegated
beams. The birds fly out from their shelters, and re-
joicing in the reappearance of the sun, and the renova-

180 STUDIES IN THE FIELD AND FOREST.

tion of exhausted nature, they sing more gayly than at
any other period; and the stillness and dampness of the
air causes their notes to resound clearly through the
groves, now sparkling with the mingled rain drops and
sunshine. Every herb, tree, and flower, sends forth a
fresh offering of incense; and as the sun declines, the
clouds that gather about his throne, receive from him a
tribute of all the varied tints of the rainbow, and illu-
minate the western hemisphere with a wreath of in-
finitely variegated and constantly changeable splen-
dor.

But summer, with all its delightful occasions of joy
and rejoicing, is in one respect the most melancholy
season of the year. We are now the constant wit-
nesses of some regretful change in the aspect of nature,
reminding us of the fate of all things, and the transi-
toriness of existence. Every morning sun looks down
upon the graves of some whole tribes of flowers, that
were but yesterday the pride and glory of the fields,
and the admiration of the impassioned beholder. Every
time I pursue my walks, while rejoicing at the discovery
of some new and beautiful visitant of the flowery
meads, I am suddenly affected with sorrow, upon look-
ing around in vain for some little companion of my
latest excursion, now drooping and faded, and breath-
ing out its last breath of fragrance into the air.

I am then reminded of early friends who are con-
stantly leaving us for another state; who are cut down
one by one like the flowers, and leave their places to be
supplied by new friends, perhaps equally lovely and
worthy of our affections, but whose even greater loveli-
ness and worth, can never comfort us for the loss of
those who have departed. Like flowers they smile
upon us for a brief season, and like flowers they perish,

JULY. 181.

after remaining with us but to teach us how to love and
how to mourn. The birds likewise sojourn with us
only long enough to teach us the joy of their presence,
and to afford us an occasion of sorrow, when they leave
our vicinity. We have hardly grown familiar with
their songs, ere they become silent and prepare for their
annual migration. They are like those agreeable com-
panions among our friends, who are ever roaming about
the world, on errands of business, duty, or pleasure, and
who only divide with us that pleasing intercourse which
they share with other friendly circles in different parts
of the earth.

It is midsummer; already do we perceive the length-
ening of the nights, and the ‘shortening of the earth’s
diurnal orbit. We are reminded by the first observa-
tion of this change, that the summer is rapidly passing
away; and we think upon it with a peculiarly realizing
sense of the mutability of the seasons. But let us not
lament that nature has ordained these alternations; for
though there is no change that does not bring with it
some lingering sorrows over the past, — yet may it not
be that these vicissitudes are the real sources of that
happiness, which we ignorantly attribute to another
cause? Every month, while it sadly reminds us of the
departed pleasures and beauties of the last, brings with
it a recompense in bounties and blessings, which the
last month could not afford. While rejoicing, therefore,
amid the voluptuous delights of summer, let us not
lament that we are not destined to live for ever among
enervating luxuries! With the aid of temperance and |
virtue, all seasons as they come, may be made equally
a source of enjoyment. And may it not be, that life
itself is but a season in the revolving year of eter-
nity — the vernal season of our immortality — that

16

182 STUDIES IN THE FIELD AND FOREST.

leads not round and round, in a circle; but onward in
an everlasting progression, from imperfect virtue and
imperfect happiness, to greater goodness and greater
bliss, until the virtues we now cherish have ripened into
eternal felicity!

XXIL.

THE SEA-SHORE.

—_e—

By the solitary sea-shore, near the dashing of waves,
that for thousands of ages have ebbed and flowed in a
never tiring alternation, I stand, and yield my mind to
those sombre thoughts suggested by the scenes about
me. The rocks that bound the coast, and form a bul-
wark for the land against the raging of the tempest
and the surging of the billows, stand around in naked
desolation, sublime in their strength to resist the con-
tending elements, and beautiful as they reflect the rays
of the sun that gilds them when he rises above the
green-headed waves. The promontories, that extend
into the sea, call dismally to mind, the many disasters
they have witnessed, while contending against the
assaults of the ocean, and the anger of the winds; and
the echoes, that haunt their solitary rocks, seem to repeat
many a tale of sorrow and misfortune.

The sea-gulls are sailing above my head, uttering
their trilling scream, and congregating restlessly in
flocks upon the distant shallows. Clad in their downy
plumage, they are alike impenetrable by summer’s heat
or winter’s cold. They are merry and busy alike at all
seasons and in all weather; and are never weary of

184 STUDIES IN THE FIELD AND FOREST.

rising and sinking, as if life was to them only a scene
of moving and busy preparation for something to come.
Now and then the halcyon, or kingfisher, with a note
that resembles a watchman’s rattle, may be seen stand-
ing on a leafless branch of a tree, that extends over the
wave, silently watching for his prey. His home is
among the rocks of the shore, and he has learned his
discordant notes from the raging billows, with which he
loves to contend. He delights in the sound of the
waters; and has borrowed the hues of his plumage
from the azure that overspreads the surface of the great
deep.

There is an aspect of desolation about the sea-shore
that harmonizes with the plaintive sounds that are
always blended with the murmuring waves; but nature
has strewed it with thousands of beautiful things, from
the huge rock that defends the shore, to the minutest
shells that are scattered at our feet. Sea-mosses, of the
most variegated colors and forms, have been washed
upon the sands; and pebbles of white and red quartz
and green and yellow feldspar, have been ground to
perfect smoothness by the washings of centuries. Mill-
ions of curiously wrought sea-shells, of different species,
are strewed among the red, yellow, purple, and white
gravel. Every spot is filled with microscopic wonders,
and many are the fragments that tell of the mysterious
productions, that luxuriate in the depths of the sea.

The banks of earth, that gird a part of the shore,
have been so often assailed by storms, that but little
vegetation covers their sloping sides. But flowers of
rare beauty may be found clustering there, where nature
has planted many a species that refuses to grow far from
the briny spray of the ocean. Lupines, with their erect
spikes of blue and lilac, are conspicuous in their sea-

THE SEA-SHORE. 185

son ; and a few days later, the maritime peavine covers
roods of sand with its dense green leaves, interspersed
with tufts of purple flowers, that seem to peep out
timidly from under the foliage. Of more humble ap-
pearance, we observe the sea-sandwort, and the scarlet
pimpernel, or poor man’s weather-glass, that expands in
the broad sunshine, but closes when the sky is overcast
with clouds, or the wind blows freshly from the sea.
Many tall grasses are nodding their brown and purple
plumes on the edge of the shore; and as if to rival the
beauty of the meadows, the marsh rosemary gleams
among the herbage, like some fair blossoms that have
wandered from a brighter clime. The purple gerardia
does not refuse to grow by the seaside, and often blends
its delicate cups with the green and crimson samphire.
The shores abound with many other plants conspicu-
ous only for their ‘peculiarities. Such are the prickly
salt-wort, and the goose-foot and the sea-lovage that
are frequent by the seaside, and are familiarly asso-
ciated in our minds with its sands and its pebbles.
There is a mixture of beauty, grandeur, and desola-
tion in the objects about the sea-shore, that renders it
peculiarly interesting to every man of lively fancy.
Hence it has ever been the theme of the poet, from him ~
who portrays Chryses, the priest and bereaved parent
wandering silent and sorrowful by the sounding main,
regarding the sea-shore as a proper scene for a discon-
solate father’s grief, to the modern lyrist who apostro-
phizes the open sea. And hence the sea and its ac-
companiments have ever been the haunt of beings of
the imagination. From every rock has been heard the
sweet voice of the Siren; and Nereids, in the semblance
of beautiful nymphs, reside in palaces of amber, far
down in the fathomless deep. Among the cliffs and
16*

186 STUDIES IN THE FIELD AND FOREST.

caverns of the shore, and in the dark mysterious abysses
of the ocean itself, has fancy always delighted to pic-
ture the residences of supernatural beings, — some of
whom are appointed to guard the seaman, in his peril-
ous course; while others, inhabiting some green sum-
mer isle, are employed in tempting the voyager to turn
aside from his destination, to seek dangerous pleasures
among its fruitful fields.

The sublimity of the-ocean, whether we behold it
from the shore, or from midwaters, has always been the
delight of those who take pleasure in lofty conceptions.
Here is the boundless expanse of the ocean on one side,
allied with our ideas of infinity, and awaking senti-
ments of grandeur and melancholy; and on the other,
green banks adorned with groves and shrubbery, and
fringed with thousands of plants peculiar to the situa-
tion. Scenes of beauty and pastoral delight, being
thus placed in opposition to this wide waste of waters,
affect with a double charm both the eye and the mind.
The sea-shore is a spot that has ever been sacred to
musing. The contemplative man finds in its solitude
a pleasant companionship with the whispering wave,
and with the echoes that have ever dwelt in its clefts
and dingles. The dashing of waves has a deep solem-
nity of expression, unlike any other sound in nature, as
they come with a loud weltering upon the strand, and
then slide back, with a diminishing sound, and a thou-
sand rippling notes among the pebbles. After being
disturbed by a tempest, the ocean seems to convey in
its sullen roar, a dim. suggestion of the perils of the
deep, and of the suffcvrings of those who have encoun-
tered shipwreck upon its merciless bosom.

In connection with these sights and sounds, certain
fancies will come to the mind while musing by the sea-

‘ THE SEA-SHORE. 187

side, that add a tender melancholy to our reflections,
and cause every scene, however barren, to stand out to
the mental vision as a picture, embellished with beau-
tiful and pathetic images, drawn from romance and real
life. Thus do the sombre shades of evening, when
blended with the light of day, produce those gorgeous
but melancholy tints, that surround the sun at his de-
cline. Some of the most pleasing myths and tradi-
tions are connected with the isles, promontories, and
inlets of the sea. All these affect the mind, however
unconsciously, with a feeling of sadness and sublimity,
while we survey the broken scenery of the coast, and
listen to the significant muttering of the waves, when
they threaten a storm, or to their lonely surging, after
the tempest is over.

Often on a still evening, when the perplexities of
business and study have fevered the mind, or misfor-
tune has depressed the spirits, have I taken a solitary
ramble by the seaside. All that is lively does not on
all occasions enliven; neither does all that is solemn
and melancholy always tend to sadden the feelings.
The mind, when it needs consolation, craves something
that is in harmony with its afflictions; and nothing to
the stricken soul is so saddening as the loud laughter of
vacant hilarity. But the plaintive music of the whis-
pering wave, or the solemn intonations of the mutter-
ing billows, when they dash with frequency upon the
rock-bound coast, are not depressing. Though in har-
mony with the soul in its melancholy moods, they raise
the drooping spirits to an alliance with the grander
scenes of nature, and cheer them by this exaltation.

The Osprey, as he sails above my head, in many a cir-
cular sweep, utters a scream that is in unison with the
lonely music of the sea; and as the day declines and

188 STUDIES IN THE FIELD AND FOREST.

the shades of night are gathering about me, the whistle
of the plover far aloft in the heavens, comes to the ear
like the voice of some invisible being with a message from
another land. The birds of the sea-shore have no song.
Nature, who creates nothing in vain, has refrained from
giving them musical notes, that would be lost among
the discordant sounds which the echoes often strive
vainly to repeat, in the deafening confusion of their
roar. But the notes of these birds are not all wanting
in cheerfulness. The twittering of the little sand-
pipers, that gather about the flats at low tide, is as
lively as their motions, and attracts the ear almost as
with music, while we watch their peculiarly graceful
flight.

The sea-shore presents many scenes that are favor-
able to meditation; and the voices of the waves seem
to have borrowed a pensive tone from the disasters they
have witnessed, when the tempest has driven upon the
rocks, and mercilessly dashed to pieces the vessel that
struggled agaiust their power. Not the least interest-
ing objects of the sea-shore are those which are bor-
rowed from art, and made charming by their connection
with the welfare of man. A little skiff contending
with a rising gale, and just near enough to the shore, to
afford an assurance that she will land in safety; a fleet
of joyful sail making headway out to sea, under a gen-
tle breeze, with the beams of the morning sun gilding
their canvas, and rendering them the more conspicuous,
on the blue surface of the deep, are objects ever excit-
ing to the sympathies and interesting to the mind.

Ye charming scenes of grandeur; ye naked rocks
that have battled for thousands of ages with the tem-
pest; ye murmuring billows that charm our ears with
the very music of melancholy; ye flowery banks which

THE SEA-SHORE. 189

have always been the resort of the sand-martin and the
little piping plover;—=in vain would I attempt to de-
scribe the sentiments of mingled sadness, cheerfulness,
and sublimity, awakened by the varied objects that sur-
round the great abyss of waters. When sadness comes
upon the mind, like a dark cloud over the vernal sun-
shine, let me stroll by the seaside, and find a tonic for
the drooping spirits, in those sounds that have, for
countless centuries, spoken in the ears of man the
power and the wisdom of their Creator! Let him who
is of thoughtless habit come here and ponder, until he
has learned that from these solitary musings, comes a
purer and more enduring pleasure, than from all the
frivolities of high life. For here by the sea-shore
nature shows forth the wonders of creation, along with
beauties and harmonies, that fill the soul with gratitude
and delight, and yield to him who wanders there, with
a devout spirit, a gladness that can spring only from
nature, and hopes that descend only from the skies.

XXIV.

AUGUST.

Tue plains and uplands are already green with a
second growth of vegetation. A new spring has com-
menced among the tender herbs, and nature is rapidly
repairing the devastation committed by the scythe of
the mower. But the work of the haymaker is not
completed. He is still swinging his scythe among the
tall sedge-grass in the lowlands; and the ill-fated
flowers of August may be seen lying upon the green-

.sward, among the prostrate herbage. The fields of
grain are bright with their golden maturity; the work
of the reapers has commenced, and the sheaves of
wheat and rye, present to sight their waving rows to
gladden and to bless the husbandman. Flocks of quails,
reared since the decay of the spring flowers, are diligent
among the fields, after the reapers have left their tasks.
They may be seen slily and silently creeping along the
ground; and now and then they lift up their timid
heads, as they are watching our approach. The loud
whistling of the guardian of the flock, perched at a
short distance upon a wall, may also be heard; and
occasionally, as we saunter carelessly along the field-
path, a brood of partridges, rising suddenly, almost from

AUGUST. 191

under our feet, astound our ears with their loud whirring
flight.

Since the fading of the roses, the greater numbers of
the summer warblers have become silent, as if the
presence of these lovely flowers was necessary to in-
spire them with song. They have grown timid, and
have forsaken their usual habits; no longer warbling at
the season’s feast or rejoicing in the noonday of love.
They fly no longer in pairs, but assemble in flocks,
which may be seen rising and settling, at frequent inter-
vals, over different parts of the landscape. Some species
are irregularly scattered, while others gather themselves.
into large multitudinous flocks, and seem to be enjoy-
ing a long holiday of social festivities, while preparing
to leave these northern latitudes. Their songs, lasting
only during the period of love, are discontinued since
their conjugal joys have ended, and the young birds are:
no longer under their care. On every new excursion
into the woods, I perceive the sudden absence of some.
important melodist of the woodland choir. During the
interval between midsummer and early autumn, one
voice after another drops away, until the little song-
sparrow is left again, to warble alone in the fields and
gardens, where he sung. his earliest hymn of rejoicing
over the departure of winter.

Since the birds have become silent, they have lost
their pleasant familiarity with man, and have acquired am
unwonted shyness. The little warblers that were wont.
to sing on the boughs, just over our heads, or at a short
distance from our path, now keep at a timid distance,
chirping with a complaining voice, and flee from our ap-
proach, before we are near enough to observe their
altered plumage. The plovers and the pewits have:
come forth from the places where they reared their

192 STUDIES IN THE FIELD AND FOREST.

young, and congregate in large flocks upon the marshes;
and as we stroll along the sea-shore, we are often agree-
ably startled by the sudden twittering flight of these
graceful birds, aroused from their haunts by our unex-
pected intrusion. Now and then in our sauntering
tour, our ears are greeted by the harsh voice of the king-
fisher, as he sits motionless upon a branch that juts over
the tide, watching his finny prey; and the stakedriver,
a species of heron, is roused, from his retreat, and with
that peculiar note from which he has derived his
name, pursues his awkward flight into the neighboring
swamp.

The lowland valleys, during the early part of this
month, are covered with their proudest luxuriance.
The red fimbriated orchis rears its elegant plumes above
the paler flowers of the arethusa; the scarlet lobelia
gleams like some flower of a brighter clime, around the
borders of the rivulets; and the orange-colored heads
of the butterfly-weed, and the purple blossoms of the
Indian hemp, meet our sight, at almost every turn in
our wanderings. Long rows of the trumpet-weed
border the drains and brook-sides, looking proudly over
the humble osier-bushes, and the purple blossoms that
terminate their tall perpendicular stalks, may be seen
nodding in the breeze like the plumes of a marching
company of infantry. SSometimes when rambling in
deep woods, which have never been reduced -by the
hand of cultivation, in certain choice and secluded
places —the cloisters of the wilderness — the white
orchis may occasionally be discovered, each flower
bearing resemblance to. a delicate female with a white
ruff and turban. The plant is almost parasitic, having
its roots imbedded in the peat mosses, and not extend-
ing into the soil. When we meet these little flowers of

AUGUST. 193

the purest whiteness, looking timidly out from their
bower of ferns, hedged around by tall reeds, and pro-
tected by a canopy of alders, they seem the apt emblems
of innocence and vestal purity.

It is now almost impossible for the rambler to pene-
trate some of his old accustomed paths in the lowlands,
so thickly are they interwoven with vines and trailing
herbs. Several species of cleavers, with their slender
prickly branches, form a close metwork among the
rushes and ferns; and the smilax and the blackberry
vines weave an almost impenetrable thicket in our
ancient pathway. ‘The walls are festooned with the
blue flowers of the woody nightshade, and the more
graceful plants of the peavine and groundnut are twin-
ing among the faded flowers of elders and viburnums.
The bending panicles of the blue vervain are nodding
above the yellow flowers of the tufted loosestrife, and
the purple downy spiraea decks the borders of the fields
with its numerous pyramidal clusters. The lowlands
were never more delightful than at the present time ;
and they afford one many’ a refreshing arbor beneath.
the shrubbery, where the waters have dried away, and
left the green grass plat as sweetly scented’as a bower
of honeysuckles. These are places that seem designed:
for our refreshment on summer noondays: bowers.
where it is delightful to repose beneath the shade of the.
slender birches whose tremulous foliage seems to be
whispering to us some pleasant messages of peace.
All around us the convolvulus has woven its delicate:
vines, and hung out its pink and striped bellflowers ;
and the clematis, or virgin’s bower, has formed an um-
brageous trellis-work over the tops of the trees. Its.
white clustering blossoms spread themselves out in

triumph over the clambering grape vines; and wood-.
17

194 STUDIES IN THE FIELD AND FOREST.

bines and other trailing shrubs are interwoven with the
slender branches of the trees, forming deep shades
which the sun cannot penetrate, overhanging and over-
arching the green paths that lead through the lowland
thickets.

But let the rambler in the wooded swamps beware
of that upas of our forests— the poison sumach. It is
one of the most elegant of our native shrubs; and its
long, slender, and graceful branches, terminating with
pinnate leaves on purple glossy stems, invite the un-
wary rambler to pluck them from the tree, to add to his
bouquet of wild flowers. Hardly less dangerous is the
poison ivy —a plant of the same genus — of a trailing
habit, almost parasitic, and frequenting all kinds of
situations. It is often mistaken for the Virginia
creeper, a very harmless and ornamental vine; and
may be distinguished from it by observing that it has
its leaves in threes, while the creeper bears them in
whorls of fives. The dread of these plants destroys the
pleasure which many persons would otherwise derive
from a tural] excursion; but prudence and a knowledge
of their aspect are a sufficient safeguard from injury.
Though I have never been in the slightest degree
affected by them, yet whenever I meet them I turn
aside, and have often left-untouched a beautiful flower,
or a cluster of ripe fruit, which could be obtained only
by passing through a coppice of poison wood.

The odors that scent the atmosphere, during the
several months of the year, are as different as their
vegetation and climate; and these odors, to one who is
accustomed to them, are immediately suggestive of the
geueral aspect of the season. At the present time,
nineded with the perfume of flowers, comes the less
fragrant incense from the sheaves of the reapers; and

AUGUST. 195

there is an agreeable and peculiar odor rising from the
wet lands, which is characteristic of the month. Early
in the spring, when the mellow soil first receives the
warm rays of the sun, we perceive a healthful incense
from the newly springing herbs. This is soon succeeded
by the fragrance of the early flowers, and of the
tasselled trees and shrubs. Day by day new hosts of
flowers arrive in succession, until the air is full of the
spicy aroma of early summer. With August com-
mences the decline of these delicious gifts of vegeta-
tion; and the scents of autumn and of the harvest be-
come daily more abundant, until the arrival of the frosts,
that fill the atrnosphere with those peculiar odors that
mark the fall of the leaf.

When the pale orchis of the meads is dead, and the
red lily stands divested of its crown; when the arethusa
no longer bends her head over the stream, and the last
roses are weeping incense over the faded remnants of
their lovely tribe — then I know that the glory of sum-
mer has departed ; and I look not, until the coming of
the asters and the goldenrods, to see the fields again
robed in loveliness and beauty. The meeker flowers
have perished, since the singing birds have discontinued
their songs, and the last rose of summer may be seen,
blooming upon its stem, in solitary and melancholy
beauty — the lively emblem of the sure decline of the
beautiful objects of this life ; the lovely symbol of beau-
ty’s frailty and its transientness. When the last rose is
gone, I look around with sadness upon its late familiar
haunts; I feel that summer’s beauty now is past, and
sad mementos rise wherever I tread.

It is my delight to seek for these last born of the
tribe of roses; and they seem to my sight more beauti-

196 STUDIES IN THE FIELD AND FOREST.

ful than any that preceded them, as if nature, like a
partial mother, had lavished her best gifts upon these,
her youngest children. ‘The bushes that support them
are overtopped by other plants, that seem to feel an
envious delight in concealing them from observation;
but they cannot blot them from our memory, nor be
admired as we admire them. The clethra, with its
white odoriferous flowers, and the button-bush, with its
elegant globular heads, vainly strive to equal them in
fragrance or beauty. The proud and scornful thistle
rears its head close by their side, and seems to mock at
the fragility of these lovely flowers; but the wild-brier,
though ‘its roses have faded, still gives out its undying
perfume, as if the essence of the withered flowers still
lingered about their leafy habitation, like the spirits of
our departed friends, about the places they loved in their
lifetime.

Tn the latter part of the month, we begin to mark the
approaching footsteps of autumn. Twilight is chill;
and we perceive the greater length of the nights, and
evening’s earlier dew. The morning sun is later in the
heavens, and sooner tints the fleecy clouds of evening,
The bright verdure of the trees has faded to a more
dusky green; and here and there in dilterent parts of the
woods, may be observed a sere and yellow leaf, like the
white hairs that are interspersed among the dark brown
tresscs of manhood, and indicate the sure advance of
hoary years. 'lhe fields of ripe and yellow grain are
gleaming through the open places in the woods, making
a pleasant contrast with their greenness, and exhibiting,
in the same instant, the signs of a cheerful harvest, and
the melancholy decay of vegetation. The swallows are
assembling their little hosts upon the roofs and fences,

AUGUST. 197

preparing for their annual migration, and all animate
and inanimate things announce the speedy decline of
summer.

Already do I hear, at nightfall, the chirping of the
cicadas, whose notes are, at the same time, the harvest
hymn of nature, and a dirge over the departure of
flowers. When the evenings are perceptibly length-
ened, and the air partakes of the exhilarating freshness
of autumn, these happy insects commence their an-
thems of gladness; and their monotonous, but agree-
able melody, is in sweet unison with the general
serenity of nature. Though these voices come from
myriads of cheerful hearts, there is yet a plaintiveness
in their modulation, which, like the songs we heard in
our early years, calls up the pensive remembrance of
scenes that are past, and turns our thoughts inwardly
upon almost forgotten joys and sorrows. How differ-
ent are these emotions from those awakened by the first
sound of the piping frogs that hail the opening of
spring, and which are attended by feelings of unmin-
gled cheerfulness! All these sounds, though perhaps
not designed particularly for man, seem adapted by
nature to harmonize agreeably with our feelings; and
there is a soothing and lulling influence in the song of
the cicadas, that softens into tranquillity the melan-
choly it inspires, and tempers all our sadness with
pleasure.

We no longer perceive that peculiar charm of spring
vegetation, that comes from the health and the fresh-
ness of every growing thing; and we cannot help asso-
ciating the flowers of August, with the dry, withered,
and dying plants that everywhere surround them. In
June, every thing in the aspect of nature is harmonious;
all is greenness and gladness, and nothing appears in

17*

198 STUDIES IN THE FIELD AND FOREST.

company with the flowers, to disfigure their charms, or
to affect the sight with displeasure. But August pre-
sents a motley spectacle of rank and inelegant weeds,
that overshadow the flowers, and the beauty of the
fields is often hidden by the withered vegetation of the
last month. This appearance, however, is obvious only
in those places which have been disturbed by the
ploughshare. Where the fields still remain in a wild
state, nature preserves, throughout the season, more or
less of that harmony, which is so remarkable in the
early months. Wherever the hand of man has dis-
turbed the order of nature, there, until she has had
time to repair the mischief he has done, rank weeds
Spring up and disfigure the prospect, while in the native
wilds, all things succeed one another in a delightful and
harmonious progression.

It is in the tilled lands only that we observe those
dreary collections of luxuriant weeds and decayed herb-
age, intermingled with flowers that seem, on account of
their beauty, to deserve a better fate. In the wilds,
nature always preserves the harmony of her seasons.
Each herb and flower appears at proper time; and
when one species has attained maturity, it gives place
to its rightful successor, without any confusion, all
rising and declining like the heavenly hosts of night,
and clothing the face of the landscape in perpetual
bloom and verdure. Seldom do we behold a parterre
that equals in beauty those half wild spots, where after
a partial clearing of the forest, nature has been left to
herself a sufficient time to recover from the effects of
art, and to rear those plants which are best fitted to the
soil and the season.

Let the lover of flowers and landscapes who would
learn how to gather round his dwelling all those rural

AUGUST. 199

beauties, that will meet and blend in harmony, receive
his lesson from nature in her own wilds. Let him look
upon her countenance, before it has been disfigured by
a barbarous art, to acquire his ideas of beauty and pro-
priety, and he will never mar her features, by adding
gems that do not harmonize with their native expres-
sion, plucked from the bosom of a foreign clime. Then,
although he may not sit under the shade of the palm or
the myrtle, or roam among sweet-scented orange
groves, in the climate of northern fruits and northern
flowers, he needs no foreign trees or shrubbery to deco-
rate his grounds, or adapt them to his pleasures. Ina
forest of his own native pines, he may find an arbor in
summer.and a shelter in winter, as odoriferous as a
grove of cinnamon and myrtles; and the fruits of his
own orchards will yield him a repast more savory than
the produce of the Indies.

XXYV.
THE THREE DEITIES.

—+*e—

Turee Deities preside in Nature’s fane,

And turn to bliss the bounties of her reign.

They hold her fairest offerings, and distil,

Like dew from heaven, the better joys that fill
The earth to bless all creatures. Every place

Is made resplendent with their light and grace.
They shed on earth and scatter o’er the sphere
All those bright gifts that charm the varied year.
For them mild Vesper sheds her parting glow,
And Tris lifts in heaven her showery bow.

For them the Dryads wreathe the moss-grown wood,
And dress the mead, and paint the silvery flood.
Each little leaf that rustles on the spray,
Through which the zephyrs sing their roundelay,
The sounds of darkness, heard when night is still,
The whispering waves, the breeze upon the hill,
By them are tuned to pleasure, and designed

As bonds of love to nature and mankind.

The first of these is Beauty; with her fingers,
She pencils all the hues where twilight lingers.
The moon’s soft beam is hers, the fire-fly’s light,
The meteor’s flash, the diamond host of night;

THE THREE DEITIES. 201

The clouds that spread their silken webs on high,
The water’s sheen, the azure of the sky:

All things that sweetly glow, or brightly shine,

At purple dawn of morn, or day’s decline.

She gives the insect host their varied stain,

And calls the wild flowers out upon the plain.

For her the queen of spring adorns her walks,

Tints the green herbs, and binds upon their stalks
Gems of the purest radiance, azure bells,

And hyacinths, and pensive asphodels.

The native wilds, the cultivated farms,

Springtime and summer, with their glowing charms,
And autumn, with his myriad hues, dispense

Her favors in unbounded affluence.

There’s not a flower that blossoms in the field,

Or ruddy tint the twilight has revealed ;

A gladdening beam upon the cheek of morn,

Or sparkling wreath the mountain’s brows have worn,
That beauty has not reared to charm the soul,

And bind it to the earth, as by divine control.

Then Music comes — the second of the twain,
With warbling birds and echoes in her train,
Led on by zephyrs. In her hand she bears

A lute, with chords to charm away our cares.
She’s Beauty’s sister-twin. The summer gales
Are her attendants, whom o’er hills and dales,
She sends to bear her tuneful melodies,

And harmonize them with the vocal breeze.
Her’s are the songs of morn, the evening bell,
The voices borne from mountain, rock, and fell ;
The gentle whispers of the pebbly shore,

And murmurs of its more tumultuous roar.

202 STUDIES IN THE FIELD AND FOREST.

The babbling echoes, that in deserts rude,
Delight to cheer the silent solitude

With voices, are her daughters. Creeping things,
That cherup from the hedges aud the springs ;
The feathered warblers of the grove; the leaves,.
That murmur when the rustling zephyr heaves,
Are her peculiar charge. At eventide,

If you go forth along the green hill-side,

You then will feel her presence, and confess

Her power to add to nature’s loveliness.

But there is still a loftier power, who sprang

From heaven, when first the stars of morning sang

Rejoicings, as the Ruler of the spheres

Apportioned time in seasons, days, and years;

Her name Sublimity — the skies her throne —

Her dwelling-place unfathomed and unknown!

The blue serene of heaven she studs with stars,

And rolls the meteors in their fiery cars.

She loves to pause where mighty torrents dash

Down deep abysses ; where the billows’ crash

Is heard upon some lonely rock-bound coast,

And moaning winds tell tales of vessels wrecked and lost;

Where mountains rear their summits, lightnings flare,

And northern lights emit their lurid glare.

She holds dominion o’er the boundless deep,

When waves are dashed on high, or when they calmly
sleep.

Hers are the prairies and the seas, where space

Is limitless, and where the plains embrace

The circling skies. She lends a needful aid

To Beauty’s mild creations; thus displayed,

Each gives to each a more enlivening power, '

As moonlight beautifies the solemn midnight hour.

XXVI.

ANGLING.

I wave often thought that the practice of angling was
so intimately connected with the prospect of green
fields, and the smell of fresh meadows, that the general
fondness for the sport, originated in a great measure, in
our love of nature. I am so far, therefore, from con-
sidering the angler a model of patience, as Dr. Franklin
regarded him, that I would rather look upon him asa
sort of indolent devotee of nature, who prefers .the
voluptuous quiet of this sedentary sport to the more
active habits of the gunner, the botanist, or the geolo-
gist. There are individuals, undoubtedly, who delight
in angling from the love of the sport itself. Such are
our inveterate fishers around the wharves and harbors,
and who are generally better acquainted with the respec-
tive flavors of the different species of the finny tribe,
than with fishes as subjects of natural history. But
the majority of anglers will be found to be genuine
lovers of nature; and like old Izaac Walton, as famil-
iar with the plants that are growing at their feet, as with
the little shining inhabitants of the lake and stream.

Iam not of that sect of the humane who would con-
demn angling, on account of its cruelty. The pangs

204 STUDIES IN TIE FIELD AND FOREST.

suffered by a little fish, while expiring on the green
bank are but momentary, and probably not to be com-
pared with those of a bird, when first taken from his
native haunts, and shut up inacage. Fishes do not
seem to be endowed with the sense of feeling, or touch,
and have a brain so small as hardly to afford them a
very definite consciousness. They have the senses of
sight, of hearing, of smell, and of taste, for without
these they could not provide for their own wants.
They possess a very low form of intelligence and sen-
sibility, and may be severely cut, without showing
signs of feeling. If we wound a poor bird, he may
lead a life of pain and misery for many weeks. He is
a creature of warm blood, endowed with intelligence,
and a capacity for grief. He is regarded as the com-
panion and benefactor of man, and as having certain
inalienable rights — such as the enjoyment of life and
liberty, and the means of obtaining a livelihood. But
fishes, the voracious devourers of their own young,
whom they cannot recognize and do not protect, are
plainly incapable of mental suffering, and may be taken
in unlimited quantities, without danger of causing an
inconvenient scarcity. Hence, though all living crea-
tures are more or less endowed with a power of feeling
pleasure and pain, and have a certain right to the enjoy-
ment of life, I regard the destruction of a fish in the
same light as the killing of a fly, or the trampling ona
worm. I would not needlessly destroy an insect, or set
foot upon a worm; but I believe the united sufferings
of a thousand fishes in the agonies of death, would not
equal the pangs suffered by one little child with a burnt
finger.

There is no other sport so well adapted to the habits
of a thoughtful man, as that of angling, leading him

ANGLING. 205

out at noonday, under the shade of trees, or in the
evening by the glassy stream, on whose mirrored sur-
face he may view the surrounding hills and woods, while
watching for the dimpling movements of the water
that indicate the nibbling of the fish. There can be no
more delightful recreation in serene summer weather,
when the heat of the atmosphere will not permit one
to engage in more active toil or amusement. And
there is no end to the pleasing fancies in which one
‘may indulge the mind, while listening to the varied
notes of the birds, that always frequent the borders of
streams and lakes, or watching the motions of some
little animal, that will occasionally peep out upon one,
while occupied in his quiet amusement.

When we are seeking after pleasure, it is not always
the prominent object of pursuit that is the source of
the principal enjoyments we experience. Our object
may be an errand of business in itself disagreeable,
and our pleasures may spring from our adventures and
observations, during the time occupied in the perform-
ance of the errand. A walk is seldom interesting, how-
ever pleasant the scenery and other objects on the road,
if we are sauntering. without any particular aim. But
if we have gone out to accomplish a certain purpose,
which is of sufficient importance to keep up our resolu-
tion to proceed, every scene on the road may be produc-
tive of a high degree of pleasure. Thus it seems to me
that in angling, the pleasure of the pursuit is, in almost
all cases, derived from collateral circumstances, though
the latter would be nothing without the purpose before
us of taking our finny game.

The pleasure of angling consists in having something
agreeable to occupy the mind, while indulging in the
voluptuous sensations that attend us, when surrounded

18

206 STUDIES IN THE FIELD AND FOREST.

by the agreeable circumstances of green fields, fragrant
woods, and pleasant prospects. To sit beside a stream
for half a day, under the spreading branches of an oak,
would be but a dull amusement for the most enthusias-
tic lover of nature, if he had no purpose in view, except
to enjoy the mere sensations derived from surrounding
objects. But let him throw a hook and bait into the
stream, with the intention of taking a few fishes to
grace his table; and however insignificant their value,
it is sufficient to furnish a motive for watching a float
for many hours. The expectations which are thus
aroused, and the agreeable exercise of the attention and
the ingenuity, with the additional pleasure derived
from the varied scenery, the fresh odors of vegetation,
and the many agreeable sounds from animated nature,
unite in rendering it one of the most interesting of em-
ployments.

Though I have never been a skilful or inveterate
angler, yet the review of my angling excursions always
brings before me, some of my most pleasing recollec-
tions. The stillness of the occupation prepares the mind
to receive impressions from surrounding objects, with
singular vividness. The sight of the little fishes, as they
are darting about among the long stems of the water-
lilies, is then as pleasant to us as to a child. We
watch every minute object with close attention, though
it be but the little water-beetles as they whirl about in
still water near the shore, or the minute blossoms of the
potamogeton, that lift up their heads above the glassy
wave. The lighting of a butterfly on the blue spikes
of the pickerel-weed, or the humming of a dragonfly,
as he pursues his microscopic prey among the tall
sedges and pond-weeds, never fail to attract our notice,
while engaged in our day-dreaming occupation.

ANGLING. 207

While watching the float, as it sails gently about
with the wind, occasionally dimpling the surface of the
water, we do not confine our attention to this alone.
Not a bubble on the glossy sheen of the lake, or the
flitting shadow of a cloud as it passes over the sky,
escapes our notice. Every thing that moves, and every
thing that can be seen or heard, excites our curiosity as
in the still darkness of night. When the fishes are
inactive, as they often are during the heat of the day,
we have little to do except to watch and observe the
scenes and objects around us. At such times our atten-
tion is frequently attracted to something, that hitherto
might always have been unobserved; and the squirrel
that sits watching us on the bough of a neighboring
tree; the little bird that is busy weaving stems, at no
great distance, into the fork of a hazel-bush, and the
sober cattle that have waded up to their knees into the
shallow water, are all observed and studied with delight.

But the amusement of angling is not associated with
sedentary observations alone; it is also connected with
many interesting excursions in quest of more lucky
fishing ground. How often has it led us into delightful
explorations of the woody boundaries of ponds, carry-
ing us into seemingly impenetrable thickets, and caus-
ing the sudden discovery of some beautiful or curious
plant, hitherto unknown to us, or introduced us to some
new and interesting bird or quadruped. It was on one
of these rambles, by its musical and melancholy coo-
ings, that I first discovered the wicker-nest of the turtle-
dove, with its solitary egg, in the branches of a slender
white pine. On one of these occasions, also, I encoun-
tered for the first time, the drooping fragrant flower of
the linnea borealis—that exquisite production of

208 STUDIES IN THE FIELD AND FOREST.

northern climes, which is aptly named for the great
Swedish botanist.

But the exercise alone, with the continual excitement
of the curiosity is sufficient to give interest to these
excursions. Now we are led into green paths, through
the fragrant bushes, some laden with flowers and others
with fruit; now half-bewildered by their intricacies,
and then suddenly stumbling into a romantic view of
the water and the surrounding scenery. Soon we pass
into a deep dell, forming the bed of a stream, which has
given rise to a multitude of rare and curious plants,
and rouse the variegated summer duck from a solitary
pool, imbosomed in the thicket; finally, having arrived
at an open pasture, a flock of sheep, startled at our
approach, scamper off with resounding feet to a distant
elevation. Then do we think with peculiar delight
upon the pleasures of rural life, and regret that neces-
sity which is ever leading us away from the abodes of
peace and happiness. After performing a tour around
the pond, we return perhaps to our original fishing
ground, pleased with the simple adventures we have
encountered, and prepared to commence anew our pa-
tient toil.

As the decline of day begins to be apparent, the
fishes are more active in their nibbling, and there is a
more general stir among all the creatures of the field
and wood. The thrushes are more musical in the
neighboring thicket, and the yellow-throat comes within
a few yards of us, and sings upon the branch of an
alder bush, as if he was pleased with our company.
The frogs begin to be more loquacious, and our atten-
tion is attracted by different objects from those we
observed at noonday or in the morning. A tortoise,

ANGLING. 209

now and then, protrudes its beak and eyes above the
smooth sheen of the water, a little fish leaps out and
makes a sudden plash, or a solitary snipe, with twitter-
ing notes, pursues its graceful flight along the shore.

At this time, our luck as fishermen is usually the
most propitious. The fishes that seem averse to the
warm rays of the sun, come out of deep water, as day
declines, and look out for their prey, and are more
active in nibbling the bait. After this time, in the space
of half an hour, we often take fishes enough to make
amends for any previous bad luck. Presently the float
grows dim to the sight, the dew is perceptible on the
grass, and the evening star, as it shines through the
semicircle of light that surrounds the place where the
sun went down, reminds us of home.

We prepare for our return, and fora change of scene
and rest from our weariness; and home is never so de-
lightful as it is after one of these excursions. There is
a luxury in our rest from toil which has been wearying
but not excessive; and the pleasures of social inter-
course with our domestic circle are also greatly en-
hanced by a half day’s solitude. We partake of the
bounties of our own table with a zest that seems to
prove it to be the design of nature, that man should
toil for his subsistence, if he means to enjoy the good
things of her bounty. Thus terminates an amusement
that brings us nearer to nature, while we are engaged
in it, that leads to pleasant observations and tranquil
musings, while it prepares the mind to feel a renewed
pleasure, when wearied but not exhausted, we seek rest
in the bosom of our family.

18*

XXVII.

THE FLOWERLESS PLANTS.

As a tribe of vegetable curiosities, pleasantly asso-
ciated with cool grots, damp shady woods, rocks rising
in the midst of the forest, with the edges of fountains,
the roofs of old houses, and the trunks and decayed
branches of trees, may be named the flowerless plants.
Few persons know the extent of their advantages in
the economy of vegetation; still less are they aware
how greatly they contribute to the beauty of some of
the most beautiful places in nature, affording tints for
the delicate shading of many a native landscape, and
an embossment for the display of some of the fairest
flowers of the field. The violet and the anemone, that
peep out upon us in the opening of spring, have a
livelier glow and animation when imbosomed in their
green beds of mosses, and the arethusa blushes more
beautifully by the side of the stream, when over-
shadowed by the broad pennons of the umbrageous
fern. The old tree with its mosses wears a look of
freshness in its decay, the bald rock loses its baldness,
with its crown of lichens and ferns, and every barren
spot, in the pastures or by the way-side, is enlivened
and variegated by the carpet of flowerless plants, that

THE FLOWERLESS PLANTS. 211

spread their green gloss and many-colored fringes over
the surface of the soil.

Mosses enter into all our ideas of picturesque ruins ;
for they alone are evidence that the ruins are the work
of time. An artificial ruin can have no such accom-
paniment, until time has hallowed it by veiling its sur-
face with these memorials. They join with the ivy in
adorning the relics of ancient grandeur, and spread
over the perishable works of art the symbols of a
beauty that endureth for ever. While they are allied
to ruins, and remind us of age and decay, they are
themselves glowing in the freshness of youth, and
cover the places they occupy with a perpetual verdure.
They cluster around the decayed objects of nature and
art, and are themselves the nurseries of many a little
flower that depends on them for sustenance and protec-
tion. Though they bear no flowers upon their stems,
they delight in cherishing in their soft velvet knolls the
wood-anemone, the starwort, (Houstdnia cerilea,) the
cypripedium, and the white orchis—the nun of the
meadows — whose roots are imbedded among the fibres
of the peat mosses, and derive support from the moist-
ure that is accumulated around them. Nature has pro-
vided them as a protection to many delicate plants,
which, embowered in their capillary foliage, are enabled
to sustain the heat of summer and the cold of winter,
and remain secure from the browsing herds.

Winter, which is a time of sleep with the higher
vegetable tribes, is a season of activity with many of
the flowerless plants. There are certain species of
mosses and lichens that vegetate under the snow, and
but few of the mosses are at all injuriously affected by
the action of frost. By this power of living and grow-
ing in winter, they are fitted to act as a protection to

212 STUDIES IN THE FIELD AND FOREST.

other plants from the vicissitudes of winter weather,
and by their close texture they prevent the washing
away of the soil from the declivities into the valleys.
They answer the double purpose of catching the float-
ing particles of dust and retaining them about their
roots, and of preventing any waste from the places
they occupy. Finding in them the same protection
which is afforded by the snow, or by the matting of
straw provided by the gardener, there are many plants
that vegetate under their surface, secure from the
alternate action of freezing and thawing in winter, and
of drought in summer. Hence certain flowers blossom
more luxuriantly in a bed of mosses than in the unoc-
cupied soil.

The mosses are seldom found in cultivated lands.
As they grow entirely on the shallow surface, the labors
of the tiller of the soil are fatal to’ them. They delight
in old woods, in moist barren pastures, in solitary moor-
lauds, and in all unfrequented places. In those situa-
tions they remain fresh and beautiful, while they pre-
pare for the higher vegetable tribes many a barren spot,
that must otherwise remain for ever without its plant.
They are therefore the pioneers of vegetable life; and
nature, when she selects an uncongenial tract to be
made productive of fruits or flowers, covers the surface
with a close verdure of moss, and variegates it with
lichens, before she strews the seeds of the higher plants
to vegetate among their roots. The wise husbandman,
who, by a careful rotation of crops, causes his land to
be constantly productive, is but an humble imitator of
nature’s great principle of action.

The mosses have never been made objects of exten-
sive cultivation by our florists. Every rambler in the
wild wood knows their value and their beauty, which

THE FLOWERLESS PLANTS. 213

seem to have been overlooked by the cultivator. They
undoubtedly possess qualities that might be rendered
valuable for purposes of artificial embellishment. ‘There
is no tree with foliage of so perfect a green tint as that
of the moss which covers the roofs of very old build-
ings. The mossy knolls in damp woods are peculiarly
attractive on account of their verdure, and the fine
velvety softness of their pleasantly rounded surface.
Though the mosses produce no flowers, the little germs
that grow on the extremities of their hair-like stems are
perfect jewels. With them, however, it is the stem that
exhibits the most beauty of hues, varying from a deep
yellow to a clear and lively claret or crimson, while the
termination is green or brown. I have nothing to say
of the physiology of their propagation. I treat of
mosses only as they are beautiful objects of sight, and
useful agents in unfolding and distributing the bounties
of nature. This tribe furnishes no sustenance to man
or to any other animal. Those eatable plants which
are called by the name of mosses are either lichens or
sea-weeds. Nature, who, with a provident hand, renders
many of her productions capable of supplying a mani-
fold purpose in her economy, has limited the agency of
the mosses to a few simple and beautiful services.
They perform under her invisible guidance, for the field
and the forest, what is done by the painter and the
embosser for the works of the builder of temples and
palaces.

The ferns have fewer picturesque attractions than the
mosses; but like the latter, they are allied with the
primitive wilds of nature, with gloomy swamps, which
they clothe with verdure, and with rocky precipices, on
whose shelvy sides they are distributed like the tiles on
a roof of a house. They resemble mosses in their dis-

214 STUDIES IN THE FIELD AND FOREST.

similarity to common vegetable forms; and their broad
wing-like leaves or fronds are the conspicuous orna-
ments of wet woods and solitary pastures which are
unvisited by the plough. By their singular appearance
we are reminded of the primitive forms of vegetation
on the earth’s surface, and of the luxuriant productions '
of the tropics. In places where they are abundant, the
hellebore, with its erect stem and prim foliage, towers
above the low shrubbery, and the purple sarracenia rears
its nodding flowers, like some strange visitant from an-
other clime.

The ferns are for the most part a coarse tribe of
plants, having more beauty in their forms than in their
texture. In temperate latitudes it is only their leaf or
frond that is conspicuous, their stems being either pros-
trate or subterranean. Yet in some of the species
nothing can be more beautiful than the ramifications
of their fronds. In their arrangements we may observe
a perfect harmony and regularity, without the formality
that marks the compound leaves of other plants.
Herein nature affords an example of a compound
assemblage of parts, in a pleasing uniformity that far
exceeds the most ingenious devices of art. Apparently
similar arrangements are seen in the leaves of the
poison hemlock, the milfoil, and the Roman worm-
wood; but their formality is not so beautifully blended
with variety as that of the compound-leaved ferns.

In tropical countries some of the ferns are woody
plants, attaining the size of trees, rising with a branch-
less trunk over fifty feet in height, and then spreading
out their leaves like a palm tree. Hence they are singu-
larly attractive objects to the traveller from the north,
by the sight of which he seems to be carried back to
the early ages of the world, before the human race had

THE FLOWERLESS PLANTS. 215

a foothold upon the earth. Here we know them only
as an inferior tribe in relation to size, the tallest seldom
exceeding two or three feet in height. Every thing in
their appearance is singular, from the time when they
first push up their purple and yellow scrolls above the
surface of the soil, covered with a sort of downy plum-
age, to the time when their leaves are spread out like
an eagle’s wings, and their long spikes of russet flowers,
if they may be so called, stand erect above the weeds
and grasses, forming a beautiful contrast with the pure
summer greenness of all other vegetation.

There are few plants that exceed in beauty and deli-
cacy of structure the common maiden-hair. The main
stem is of a glossy jet, and divided into two principal
branches, that produce in their turn several other
branches from their upper side, resembling a compound
pinnate leaf without its formality. In woods in the
western part of this State is a remarkable fern called the
walking leaf. It derives its name from a singular habit
of striking root at the extremities of the fronds, giving
origin to new plants, and travelling along in this man-
ner from one point to another. There is only one
climbing fern among our native plants. Equally beau-
tiful and rare, it is found only in a few localities all the
way from Massachusetts to the West Indies. Unlike
other ferns in its twining habit, it has also palmate
leaves, with five lobes, and bears its fruit in a panicle,
like the osmunda. But we need not search out the rare
ferns for specimens of elegance or beauty. The com-
mon polypody, with its minutely divided leaves, covers
the sides of steep woody hills and rocky precipices, and
adds a beautiful evergreen verdure to their barren
slopes, otherwise destitute of attractions. The ferns
and the mosses are peculiarly the ornaments of waste

216 STUDIES IN THE FIELD AND FOREST.

and desert places, clothing with verdure barren plains
and rough declivities.

I have always attached a romantic interest to the sea-
weeds, (Algae,) whose forms remind one of the haunts
of the Nereids, of the mysterious chambers of the
ocean, and of all that is interesting among the deep
inlets of the sea. Though flowerless, they are unsur-
passed in the delicate arrangements of their branches,
and the variety of colors they display. We see them
only when broken off from the rocks on which they
grew, and washed upon the shore, where they lie, after
a storm, like flowers scattered upon the greensward by
the scythe of the mower. When branching out in the
perfection of their forms, underneath the clear briny
tide, they are unsurpassed by few plants in elegance.
The artist has taken advantage of their peculiar branch-
ing forms, and their delicate hues, and weaves them into
chaplets of the most beautiful designs.

The sea-weeds seem to be allied to the lichens, and
are considered by some botanists as the same plants
modified by growing under water, and tinted by the
iodine and bromine which they imbibe from the sea.

The lichens are the lowest tribe in the scale of vege-
tation. They make their appearance on naked rocks,
and clothe them with a sort of fringe, holding fast on
the rock for security, and deriving their chief sustenance
from the atmosphere and the particles of dust wafted
on the winds and lodged at their roots. They have
properly, however, no roots, neither have they leaves or
stem; yet they are almost infinitely varied in their
forms, hues, and ramifications. 'They grow in all places
which are exposed to air and moisture, on the surface
of rocks, old walls, fences, posts, and the branches of
trees. Some of the species are foliaceous, resembling

THE FLOWERLESS PLANTS. 217

leaves without branches, and without any distinct or
regular outlines, and found mostly on rocks. Others
are erect and ramified like trees and shrubs, but without
any thing that represents foliage. Such is that com-
mon grey lichen (Cenomyce) that covers our barren
hills, which is a perfect hygrometer, crumbling under:
the feet in dry weather, and yielding to the step like
velvet, whenever the air contains moisture. In similar
places, and growing along with it, is found one of the
hepatic mosses, that produces those little tubercles — the:
fructification of the plant — resembling dots of sealing-.
wax, and eagerly sought by artists who manufacture-
designs in moss. But the most beautiful lichens are-
those which are pendant from the branches of trees,.
(Usnea,) consisting of branching threads, of an ash-
green color, and bearing little circular shields at their
extremities. These lichens give character to moist
woods and low cedar swamps, where they hang like
funereal drapery from the boughs and deepen the gloom.
of their solitudes.

Lichens, though inhabiting all parts of the earth, are
particularly luxuriant in cold climates, thriving in ex--
treme polar latitudes, where not another plant can live..
Nature seems to have designed them as an instrument
for preparing every. barren spot with the means of sus-:
taining the more valuable plants. Not only do they
cause a gradual accumulation of soil by their decay,.
but they actually feed upon the rocks by means of
oxalic acid that exudes from their substance. By. this.
process the surface of the solid rock is changed into a
soil fitted for the nutrition of plants. After the lichens.
have perished, the mosses and ferns take root in the soil
that is furnished by their decay. One vegetable tribe:
after another grows to perfection and perishes, but to.

19

218 STUDIES IN THE FIELD AND FOREST.

give place to its more noble successor, until a sufficient
quantity of soil is accumulated for the growth of a
forest of trees. In such order may the whole earth
have been gradually covered with plants, by the perish-
ing of one tribe after another, leaving its substance for
the support of a superior tribe, until the work of crea-
tion is completed.

Among the grotesque productions of nature, the
fungi, or mushroom tribe, ought undoubtedly to be
named as the most remarkable, attaining the whole of
their growth in the space of a few days, and sometimes
of a few hours. They are simple in their parts, like
what may be supposed to have been the earliest pro-
ductions of nature. They have no leaves, or flowers,
or branches. They will grow and continue in health
without light, requiring nothing but air and moisture
above their roots. Though so low in the scale of vege-
tation, they are not without elegance of forms and
beauty of colors, and are remembered in connection
with dark pine woods, where, forming a sort of com-
panionship with the monotropas, they are particularly
luxuriant. Neither are they deficient in poetical inter-
est, as these plants are the cause of those fairy rings
that attract attention by their mysterious growth in
circles, on the greensward in the pastures.

The mushrooms vary extremely in their forms and
sizes. Some are as slender as the finest mosses, tinted
with gold and scarlet, and almost transparent. Others
resemble a parasol, with their upper surface of a bril-
liant straw-color, dotted with purple, and their under
surface of rose or lilac. They seem to riot in all sorts
of beautiful and peculiar shapes and combinations.
But the greater number are remarkable only for their
grotesque forms, as if intended as a burlesque upon the

THE FLOWERLESS PLANTS. 219

other productions of the earth. Almost every tree,
after its decay, gives origin to a particular species of
mushroom. They are often seen as small as pins, with
little heads resembling red and yellow beads, growing
like a forest under the moist protection of some broad-
leaved shrubbery. Over the surface of all accumula-
tions of decayed vegetable matter they are seen spread-
ing out their umbrellas and lifting up their heads, often
springing up suddenly, as if by enchantment. But
they are short-lived, and soon perish if the light of the
sun is admitted into their shady haunts.

Thus far have I endeavored to call attention to the
flowerless plants, not designing to treat of them in a
scientific manner. I have said nothing, therefore, of the
Characee and the Equisetums, lest I make useless repe-
titions of remarks which are necessarily of a general
character. Whoever will take pains to examine these
plants will discover an inexhaustible variety in their
forms, their modes of growth, and their fructification.
Hence those botanists who have given particular atten-
tion to this class of plants have been noted for the
enthusiasm with which they pursued their researches.
I have never been initiated into the mysteries of their
life, growth, and continuance. I treat of them only
as they serve to add beauty to a little nook in the
garden, to a dripping rock, or to a solitary dell in
the wild wood. The more we study them, the
more are we charmed with their singularity and ele-
gance.

Thus, over all her productions has nature spread the
charms of beautiful forms and tints, from the humblest
mushroom that grows upon the decayed stump of a
tree, or the lichen that hangs in drapery from its living
branches, to the lofty tree itself that rears its head

220 STUDIES IN THE FIELD AND FOREST.

among the clouds. It is not in all cases those objects
which are most attractive to a superficial observation,
that furnish the most delight to a scrutinizing mind.
The greatest beauties of nature are hidden from vulgar
sight, as if purposely reserved to reward the efforts of
those who, with minds devoted to truth, pursue their
researches in the great temple of science.

XXVIII.

SEPTEMBER.

——

WE have hardly become familiar with summer ere
autumn has arrived, with its cool nights, its foggy
mornings, and its clear halcyon days. Yet the close of
summer is but the commencement of a variety of
pleasant rural occupations, of reaping and fruit gath-
ering, and the still more exciting sports of the field.
After this time we are comparatively exempt from the
extremes of temperature, and are free to ramble at any
distance, without exposure to the sudden showers, that
so often spring up in summer, without warning us of
their approach. Though the spicy odors of June are
no longer wafted upon the gales, yet there is a clearness
and a freshness in the atmosphere, more agreeable than
fragrance, affording buoyancy to the mind and elas-
ticity to the frame.

The various employments of the farmer are changed
into agreeable recreations; and the anxious toils of
planting and haymaking have given place to the less
wearisome and more exhilarating labors of the harvest.
Besides the pleasures of the sportsman, there are succes-
sions of fruit-gatherings, and rural excursions of vari-
ous kinds, from the beginning of this month to the end
of the next, that impart to the young many cheerful

19*

222 STUDIES IN THE FIELD AND FOREST.

themes of remembrance for all the rest of their lives.
The provident simpler may be seen upon the hills,
busily employed in gathering medicinal plants for her
own humble dispensary. Close by her side are neatly
bound sheaves of thoroughwort, hardhack, thousand-root,
St. John’s wort, pennyroyal, and lifeeverlasting, which
she is benevolently providing for the supply of her
neighborhood. And while thus employed she feels the
reward of the just, in the pleasing contemplation of the
good she may perform, when winter comes with its
fevers and colds.

There is no season of the year when the landscape
presents so beautiful an appearance, just before sunset,
as during this month. The grass has a peculiar vel-
vety greenness, being without any mixture of downy
tassels and panicles of seeds; for the present covering
of the fields is mostly the second growth of vegetation,
after the first had been mowed by the husbandman or
cropped by the grazing herds. The herbage exhibits
little but the leaf, which has been thickened in its
growth and made green by the rains of early autumn.
When the atmosphere has its usual autumnal clearness,
and the sun is just declining, while his rays gleam _hori-
zontally over the fields, the plain exhibits a most bril-
liant verdure, unlike that of any of the earlier months.
When this wide landscape of uniform greenness is
viewed in connection with the blue firmament that is
spread over our heads, it seems as if the earth and the
sky were vying with one another, in the untarnished
loveliness of their appropriate colors.

There is usually a still serenity during September,
almost unknown to any former part of the year; and
all the elements seem to be restored to harmony. Yet
this is no season for inaction; for the temperate

SEPTEMBER. 223

weather, too pleasant for confinement, and too cool for
indolent repose, invites even the weary to ramble. If
the early autumn in our climate be unhealthy, it is
owing to no insalubrity of the atmosphere, to no pes-
tilence borne upon the clear autumnal breezes, but to
the folly and improvidence of man, who revels without
restraint in the unbounded luxuries now placed before
him. Of all the months the climate of September is
the most equable and salubrious; and nearly the same
temperature is wafted from every quarter of the heav-
ens. The sea-breezes spring up from the ocean,
almost with the mildness of the balmy south-west, and
the rude north wind has been softened into a delightful
blandness by his tender dalliance with summer.

The principal landscape beauty of the present month
consists of the profusion of bright-colored fruits that
meet the eye on every side, in the now deserted haunts
of the flowers. The scarlet berries of the nightshade,
occasionally varied with blossoms, are hanging like clus-
ters of the purest gems, from the crevices in the stone-
walls, through which the vines have made their clam-
bering tour. In wet places the calla and the dragon-root
display their compact bunches of red fruit, side by side
with the spotted berries of the Solomon’s-seal. On
each side of the walls, the elder-trees in interrupted
rows, are bending down with the weight of their dark
purple fruit, while here and there the loftier viburnums
stand firmly by their side, some species exhibiting their
slate-colored berries upon erect stems, others hanging
them from the extremities of their branches, like pendu-
lous clusters of grapes. The dark berries of the privet,
in conical bunches, are scattered among its prim
branches and myrtle-like foliage, and the berries of the
wild rose are beginning to redden, along with the daily

224 STUDIES IN THE FIELD AND FOREST.

brightening tints of the surrounding shrubbery. Above
all, the barberry-bushes, scattered over the hills, some in
irregular patches, others following the lines of the stone-
walls, meet the eye, with their long slender branches
fringed with delicate racemes of variegated fruit, chang-
ing from vermilion to a bright scarlet, and forming
hedge-rows and coppices of the most dazzling beauty.

Yet all these are nothing in comparison with the
splendor and variety of the orchard fruits. September
is the counterpart of June, and exhibits the transfor-
mation of the flowers of early summer, into the ripe
and ruddy harvest. The wild cherry-trees are heavily
laden with their dark purple clusters, and flocks of
robins and waxwings are busy, all the day, in their
merry plunder among the branches. The fences are
overshadowed with fruit-trees of many species, present-
ing a spectacle more showy than their flowery magnifi-
cence in early June. But in the fruits there is some-
thing less lovely than in the flowers, to which imagina-
tion always assigns some moral attributes. The various
fruits of the harvest we prize, as good and bounteous
gifts; but flowers win our affections, like beings en-
dowed with life and thought; and when we note their
absence or their departure, we feel a painful sense of
melancholy, as when we have bid adieu to living
friends. With flowers we associate the sweetness, the
loveliness, and dear and bright remembrances of spring ;
like human beings, they have contributed to our intel-
lectual enjoyments. But there are no such moral
associations connected with the fruits; and while the.
orchards are resplendent with their luxuriant beauty,
they can never affect the mind like the sight of the
flowers.

Though autumn is properly the season of fruits, Sep-

SEPTEMBER. 225

tember comes to us crowned with a new world of veg-
etation unwitnessed in the joyous summer time. ‘The
flowers of this month have little of the delicacy of the
earlier tribes, yet in glowing tints and luxuriance of
growth, they far surpass any that have preceded them.
The golden-rods that began to be conspicuous about
the middle of August, have multiplied until the fences
exhibit almost interminable hedge-rows of yellow nod-
ding plumes. Millions of asters of an endless variety
of sizes, arrangements, and colors, have arisen in every
soil and situation, some of a pure whiteness, some pur-
ple, others of a dark blue, and fringed with petals, as
fine as the rays that sparkle about a midnight taper.
In the borders of the woods, and in the meadows which
have been vacated by the purple orchis and the pale
arethusa, several species of gerardia, or American fox-
glove, hang their golden blossoms, like so many lamps
within the gloom of their shady retreats.

Wherever the scythe of the mower has not cut down
the flowers, the trumpet-weed and the yellow balsamine
grow more thriftily than ever, and the fragrant spikes of
the clethra have not entirely faded in the coppice. All
over the hills and along the green road sides, the flowers
of the autumnal hawk-weed, like the dandelions, their
vernal sisters, are gleaming in golden profusion; and
the white odorous everlastings, are everywhere pouring
out their delicate and peculiar incense. Multitudes of
thistles, of various forms and sizes, exhibit their bright
globes of pink, white, and purple blossoms, and little
goldfinches are hopping and twittering among their
downy and ripened heads. The evening primroses
are still brilliant after sunset, and in the later afternoon,
and the hyssop spangles the brook sides with its yellow
cups, blended with the delicate flowers of the purple

226 STUDIES IN THE FIELD AND FOREST.

gerardia. But the glory of the meadows, during this
season, is the golden coreopsis, that rivals all other
plants by its superior gayety and brilliancy. Finally, in
the latter part of the month, when a greater part of the
floral beauties of the season have faded, comes forth
the blue-fringed gentian, having such extreme delicacy,
as to make one almost fancy, that the bosom of May
had been plundered of one of her proper ornaments, to
deck the hoary brows of autumn.

The birds are almost silent; now and then we hear
one piping a few broken strains; but he does not seem
to be pleased with his own song, and no one answers
him from his feathered comrades. Their season of
departure is near, and numerous cares distract the tune-
ful band. The swallows are now no longer seen to
skim with twittering flight along the surface of the
waters; or sailing aloft in the air, to forewarn the
swain of coming showers. The little busy wren, one
of our latest warblers, is also silent, and all are slowly
leaving us one after another. It is a pleasant occupa-
tion to watch their various movements, their altered
manners, and their unwonted shyness. They sing no
more; but twitter, cherup, and complain, always in
restless motion, flying from tree to tree, like those pre-
paring for a long journey.

But as the birds have become silent, the insect
myriads, having attained the full maturity of their
lives, are in glad chorus with all their little harps. The
fields are covered with crickets and grasshoppers, and
the whole air resounds with their hissing melodies.
This is the honeymoon of their transient lifetime, and
they are merrily singing their conjugal ditties, while the
autumnal frosts are rapidly approaching, to put an
end to their pleasures and to their lives. While chirp-

SEPTEMBER. 227
t

ing night and day, among the green herbage, they are
but chanting the death-notes of their own brief exist-
ence. The little merry multitude, to whose myriad
voices we are now listening with delight, contains per-
haps, not one individual of those who were chirping in
their places a year ago. All that generation has passed
away, and ere another spring arrives, the present mul-
titudinous choir will have perished likewise, to yield
their places to a new million, which the next summer
will usher into life. But they take no thought of the
morrow, and like true epicureans, while the frosts are
gathering around them, they sing and make merry,
until the cold drives them into their retreats. One
tribe after another discontinues its song, until the hard
frosts commence, and leave the woods lonely and
silent, but for the screaming of jays, the cawing of
ravens, and the moaning of winds, as they pass over
the melancholy graves of the departed things of sum-
mer.

XXIX.

MUSIC OF INSECTS.

Axout midsummer, the majority of the singing birds
have become silent; but as one voice after another
drops away, new hosts of musicians of a different char-
acter take up the chorus, and their spinning melodies
are suggestive of the early and later harvest, as the
voices of the birds are associated with seed-time and
the season of flowers. In our climate the voices of no
species of insects are very loud; but when their vast
multitudes are united in chorus, they may often be
heard above the din and clatter of a busy town. Na-
ture is exhaustless in the means by which she may
effect the same end; and birds, insects, and reptiles are
each provided with different but equally effective instru-
ments for producing sounds. While birds and quadru-
peds produce them by means of a pipe connecting with
their lungs, the frogs are provided with a sort of bag-
pipe, and the insects represent, in their respective
species, the harpist, the violinist, and the drummer.

Thus there are several species that make sounds by
the vibration of a membrane attached to their sides or
to the shoulders of their wings. Such are most of the
crickets and grasshoppers. Others of the same tribes

MUSIC OF INSECTS. 229

rub their legs against a vibrating appendage connected
with their sides, in humble imitation of violin players;
lastly, the drumming insects, like the woodticks, are
provided with a little hammer, which they strike against
the ceiling that forms their retreat. It seems to me
that no man can be indifferent to the sounds and music
of insects. Even the buzzing of flies about one’s cham-
ber or sitting-room, has a soothing and tranquillizing
influence; and may be regarded as one of those circum-
stances provided by nature to relieve the world of that
dead silence, which would otherwise render this earth a
dreary and melancholy abode. We are so formed, that
every sound in nature, except her notes of alarm, by
habit becomes pleasing and assimilated to music; and
in the silence of winter, the increased delight afforded:
us by every remaining sound, is an evidence of this.
truth. The tiny hammering of the woodtick in the
ceiling, the buzzing of flies, and, above all, the chirping
of the cricket on the hearth, are among the poetical
sounds that are associated with winter days at home,.
as the voices of the raven, the jay, and the woodpecker:
are suggestive of winter in the woods.

The fly, the gnat, the beetle, and the moth, though
each utters a sound that awakens many pleasing
thoughts and images, are not to be ranked among sing--
ing insects. The latter comprehend the locusts, the:
crickets, and the grasshoppers, that seem appointed by
nature to take up their little lyre and drum, after the:
birds have laid aside their more musical pipe and flute..
Though certain insects are supposed to make their:
sounds by means of wind, their apparatus is placed
outside of their bodies, and as they have no lungs, the:
air is obtained by a peculiar inflation of their chests.
Hence the musical appendages of such insects are con-

20

230 STUDIES IN THE FIELD AND FOREST.

structed on the principle of the jewsharp, and of the
reeds in a reed-organ. The grasshopper, in all ages, has
been noted for his musical propensities; and is fre-
quently represented as playing on the harp, in certain
ancient emblematical vignettes.

Each genus of these insects has a peculiar modula-
tion of his notes. The common green grasshopper,
that during the months of August and September fills
the whole atmosphere with his din, is found chiefly in
the lowland meadows which are covered with the native
grasses. This grasshopper modulates his notes some-
what like the cackling of a hen, uttering several chirps
in rapid succession, and following them with a loud
spinning sound, that seems to be the conclusion of the
strain. His strains are continued incessantly, from the
time when the sun is up high enough to dry the dews,
until] dewfall in the evening. These players are
delighted with the clear bright sunshine, and sing but
very little on cloudy days, even when the air is dry and
warm.

There is another species of grasshopper with short
wings, that makes a kind of grating sound, by scraping
his legs, that serve for bows, against his sides, that rep-
resent, as it were, the strings of a viol. If we go into
the whortleberry pastures, we may hear still another
species, that makes a continued trilling, like the note of
the hairbird, and often continues the sound half a
minute or more, without apparent rest. This insect re-
minds me of the louder shrilling of those species which
are heard in the southern States. The note of this
grasshopper is not so agreeable as the notes of those
whose strains are more rapidly intermittent.

The American locusts make their peculiar sounds by
inflating air into their bodies, and expressing it between

MUSIC OF INSECTS. 231

two small apertures, situated a little below the base of
their wings. These holes lead from a musical table, on
each side of which are five or six thin bars, connected
by exquisitely fine membranes. There is an insect of
this tribe that is seldom heard until midsummer, and
then only during the middle of the warmest days. His
note is a pleasant remembrancer of sultry summer noon-
days, of languishing heat, and refreshing shade. It
begins low and increases in loudness, until it is almost
deafening, and then gradually dies away into silence.
The most skilful musician could not perform a more
delightful crescendo and diminuendo. It has a peculiar
vibratory sound, that seems to me highly musical and
expressive. The insect that produces this note is a
grotesque looking creature, resembling about equally a
grasshopper and a humblebee.

The black crickets and their familiar chirping are
well known to everybody. An insect of this tribe is
celebrated in English romance as the “cricket on the
hearth.” The American species do not so habitually
frequent our dwelling-houses; but they are all around
our door steps, and by the way-side, under every dry
fence and every sandy hill. They chirp night and day,
and more or less in all kinds of weather. They com-
mence their songs many weeks before the grasshoppers,
and continue them to a later period in the autumn, not
ceasing until the hard frosts have driven them into their
retreats, and silenced them by a torpid sleep.

The note of the katydid, which is a drumming sound,
has less music in it than that of some of the other
insects I have described. In our literature no other
species has become so widely celebrated, probably on
account of the fancied resemblance of his notes to the
word katydid. To my ear an assemblage of these little

232 STUDIES IN THE FIELD AND FOREST.

musicians, all engaged in uttering their peculiar note,
seems more like the hammering of a thousand little
smiths in some busy hamlet of insects. There is noth-
ing melodious in these sounds, and they are accordingly
less suggestive of poetical thoughts than those of the
greeu nocturnal grasshopper, that is heard at the same
hour and in similar situations.

The nocturnal grasshoppers, sometimes called August
pipers, commence their chirping about the second week
in August. These are the true nightingales of insects,
and the tribe that seems to me most worthy of being
consecrated to poetry. There is a singular plaintive-
ness in their low and monotonous notes, which is the
charm of the late summer and early autumnal evenings;
and there are but few persons who are not affected, by
these sounds, with a remarkable sensation of subdued
but cheerful melancholy. This effect does not seem to
be the result of association, so much as that of some
peculiar cadence or modulation of the sound.

The notes of these nocturnal pipers are most com-
monly in unison, and accurately timed, as if they were
singing in concert. ‘They are the loudest singers of our
indigenous insects, and it is worthy of notice, that they
always vary their key-note, according to the temperature
of the atmosphere, within certain degrees. They are
evidently dependent on a certain amount of heat for
their vivacity, and become more or less torpid, as the
temperature of the atmosphere sinks below a certain
point. Having noticed this fact at different times, I
was induced to make a series of exact observations a
few years since, by noticing the height of the mercury
in Fahrenheit’s thermometer, and at the same time find-
ing the key upon which these insects were chirping.
My observations were commenced early in August, and

MUSIC OF INSECTS. 233

carried through September, which was on that year as
hot as July. The following is a general statement of
the results.

When the temperature of the weather is indicated at
80° Fahrenheit, these insects will be found singing in-
variably as high as the key of F natural. When the
mercury stands at 75°, they sing one tone lower or
thereabouts, and always change from a higher to a
lower key, as the air grows colder, and the contrary as
it grows warmer. Their notes will be found to vary
about one tone with every five degrees of change in the
weather, as marked by the thermometer. I will add,
that I have never heard them singing ona higher key than
F, or on a lower key than G, comprising one note less
than an octave in their compass. The weather is sel-
dom warmer than 80° in the evening, and when it is
colder than 60°, the insects always sing out.of tune and
time, and some of them as low as G. A colder tem-
perature than this diminishes their vivacity, and silences
a great many of the performers; but after they have
become so torpid that the vibrations of their wings
would produce a sound lower than G, they become
silent.

It may be further remarked, that they hasten their
time just in proportion as they raise their key, and that
they likewise sing both in-better time and better tune,
in proportion to the warmth of the weather. When
the mercury stood at 80°, I was never able to detect a
single insect performing out of time or tune. The
whole myriad choir were singing in perfect harmony ;
their key being about F natural, and their time about
three notes to a second, which is very rapid. During
this high temperature, the shriller toned insects, as the
diurnal grasshoppers and the black crickets, sing in

20*

234 STUDIES IN THE FIELD AND FOREST.

unison with the August pipers, varying their tone in
the same manner with the variations of temperature.
But the diurnal insects do not keep time so well as
those which are the particular subject of my observa-
tions.

When the mercury stands at about 70°, a few insects
may be heard singing out of tune. ‘Their time is also
more imperfect, and is equal to about two notes to a
second. When the weather is as cold as 60° —the
average temperature of the evenings in August and
September — the greater number will be heard on the
key of B flat. Their time, however, in this state of the
weather, is very imperfect, and a great many will be
heard singing out of tune, some a tone or a semitone
higher, and others as much lower than B flat. I
attribute this difference to the different degrees of
warmth which they may find, according as they are
more or less protected from the external air. If one,
for example, be confined in a room in the house, when
the outer air is cool, the one confined will chirp several
notes higher than any that are singing out of doors.
When the temperature is very warm, there is probably
more uniformity of heat in all places and situations,
than when it is cooler. Often, on a sudden change of
temperature from warm to cool, some individuals that
happen to be in a little snug retreat that still preserves
the early heat of the day, will sing more briskly and on
a higher key than others. When the weather is below
60°, all the insects sing very feebly, without regard to
time or tune; those only that happen to be protected
under the warm projection of a roof, or the trunk of a
tree, chirping on a higher key than the rest, and with
more vivacity.

I have no doubt that with an accurate thermometer,

MUSIC OF INSECTS. 235

and a perfectly tuned instrument, the corresponding
changes produced in the shrillness of the tones of these
little insects, by the changes in the temperature of the
atmosphere, might be marked with such a degree of
accuracy, as to enable us to use them within certain
limits, as a musical thermometer. In my observations
T used a very ordinary thermometer to mark the weather,
and a German flute, which is an inaccurate instrument
for such a purpose, to mark the musical key of the
insects. Some allowance, therefore, ought to be made
for any little incorrectness which a future observer may
detect in these results. I will venture to assert, how-
ever, that the result of any future experiments of this
kind would not differ, materially, from that of the fol-
lowing table: —

Height of Thermometer. Key-note of the Insects.
80° F natural, perfect time and tune.
75° E flat, “ “ we
70° D, “ “& “
65° C, imperfect time and tune.
60° B flat, “ “ “
55° A, key-note hardly to be detected, many
out of time and tune.
50° G, a few individuals only singing slowly

and feebly.

XXX.

THE FLOWERS OF AUTUNMIN.

Tue student of nature, who is accustomed to general
observation, cannot fail to have noticed the different
character of the flowers of spring, summer, and autumn.
Each season, as well as climate, has a description of
vegetation peculiar to itself; for as spring is not desti-
tute of fruits, neither is autumn of flowers, though they
have in general but little resemblance to one another.
Those of spring, as I have already remarked, are deli-
cate and herbaceous, pale in their tints, and fragrant in
their odors. ‘The summer flowers are larger, more bril-
liant in their colors and not so highly perfumed as those
of spring. Lastly, the flowers of autumn appear in
unlimited profusion, neither so brilliant as the former,
nor so delicate as the latter. They are produced on
woody stalks, often in crowded clusters, and nearly des-
titute of fragrance. The differences in the general char-
acteristics of the flowers of different seasons are an
interesting theme of speculation; and they represent,
somewhat imperfectly, the flowers of the different lati-
tudes. The flowers of the higher latitudes resemble
those of spring, of the temperate zone those of summer,
and the flowers of the tropics those of early autumn.

FLOWERS OF AUTUMN. 237

The summer flowers are in their greatest splendor in
the latter part of June. The greater number of those
which commence their flowering in August are au-
tumnal flowers, and do not acquire their full maturity
until September. The summer flowers are charac-
terized by their large size and brilliant colors, and com-
bine the two qualities of delicacy and splendor in a
greater degree than those of any other season. Such
are the different species of the beautiful orchis tribe, the
cardinal flower, the cymbidium, the arethusas, and some
of the wild lilies. The majority of the flowering
shrubs put out their blossoms in early summer, just
after the blossoming of the fruit-trees. These diminish
in number as the summer advances, and in autumn
hardly one is to be found that is not loaded with seeds
or fruit. The flowering plants of autumn, however,
though not shrubs, are woody in their texture, and
many are, in fact, a kind of annual shrubbery.

The summer flowers may be said to date their com-
mencement with the elegant Canadian rhodora, and to
end with the alder-leaved clethra, a flowering shrub
very common in our swamps, bearing long slender
spikes of white blossoms, which have the odor of lilacs.
During this interval, the most beautiful flowering shrubs
of our climate unfold their blossoms. The rhodora is
followed in succession by the honeysuckles, the kalmias,
or false laurels, the azaleas, the viburnums, and many
others not less important as ornaments of our native
landscape. The flowering of the alder-leaved clethra,
marks the decline of summer. After this, the remain-
der of the month of August is a period rather barren
of wild flowers. The most of those which are peculiar
to summer, have faded, and the autumnal tribes are
still ripening their buds. There seems to be a short

238 STUDIES IN THE FIELD AND FOREST.

suspension during this month, of the efforts of nature,
while she is preparing to unfold the brilliant treasures
of autumn.

The spring produces in the greatest abundance those
flowers that affect a northern latitude. As the season
advances we find more of those tribes which are pe-
euliar to warm climates. The roses and rosaceous
flowers usually appear in the early summer weeks, aud
the flowers of these genera are rare in tropical regions,
being the denizens chiefly of temperate latitudes. The
papilionaceous flowers, of which the greater numbers
of species are found within the tropics, do not appear
with us in profusion until the latter part of summer.
The prevailing hues of the summer flowers are the dif-
ferent shades of scarlet, crimson, and purple, which
become paler as the days decrease in length and the
temperature becomes cooler. Thus the bulbous are-
thusa, that flowers in June, is of a brilliant purple or
crimson ; while the adder’s-tongue arethusa, that appears
a month later, is of a pale lilac. The brightest tints of
our native species belong to the summer flowers. Such
are’ the scarlet lobelia, the narrow-leaved kalmia, the
red lily, and the swamp rose.

With August commences a kind of vegetation unlike
any that has preceded it. The compound flowers, a
very extensive tribe, begin to be conspicuous. These
flowers are characteristic of vegetation in the autumn,
the greater part of them coming to perfection during
this season, commencing with a few species in the
month of August. All these increase in beauty and
variety until September arrives, bearing superb garlands
of asters, sunflowers, and golden-rods, which, though
exceeded in delicacy and brilliancy by the earlier flow-
ers, are unsurpassed in splendor.’ The season of the

FLOWERS OF AUTUMN. 239

autumnal flowers may be dated as commencing with
the flowering of the trumpet weed, or purple eupa-
torium. This is one of the most conspicuous plants in
our wet meadows, during the early part of September.
Tt often grows perfectly straight to the height of six
feet, in a favorable soil, bearing at regular distances
around its cylindrical stem, a whorl of leaves, which by
their peculiar curvature give the plant a fancied resem-
blance to a trumpet. Soon after this appear the yellow
gerardias, bringing along with them countless multi-
tudes of asters, golden-rods, and autumnal dandelions,
until the uplands are universally spangled with them,
and gleam with a profusion of blossoms unwitnessed
at any other season.

The asters are the most remarkable of the flowers of
autumn, and are, in many respects, characteristic of
them. Their stalks are woody —but they are not
shrubs, and their flowers are more delicate than brilliant.
The foreign asters which are cultivated in our gardens,
though exceeding the native species in the brilliancy of
their hues, are inferior to the latter in elegance of growth,
and in the delicate structure of their blossoms. The
prevailing color of the autumnal flowers is yellow; yet
there is not a single yellow aster among their whole
extensive tribe. Near the latter part of September, the
fields are covered with asters of every shade, from the
deep blue of the cyaneus and the purple of the New
England aster, to the purest white. The walls and the
edges of the woods are bordered with long rows of
golden-rods, and multitudes of gaudy flowers have
usurped the dominion of the roses, hiding the summer
shrubbery beneath their tall and spreading herbage.

In the latter part of autumn some of the flowers
bear a resemblance to those of spring. Such are the

240 STUDIES IN THE FIELD AND FOREST.

neottia which continues in flower until November, and
the purple gerardia, which bears no resemblance to the
other flowers of autumn. Almost simultaneously with
the tinting of the forest trees comes forth the last beau-
tiful visitant of our fields, the blue-fringed gentian.
This little flower marks the decline of autumnal vege-
tation. It begins to unfold itself during the latter part
of September, and may often be found in the meadows
after the November frosts have seared the verdure of
the fields, and changed the variegated hues of the forest
into one monotonous tinge of brown and purple.

When the woods are completely divested of their fo-
liage, and the landscape wants nothing but snow to
yield it the aspect of winter, the hamamelis, or witch-
hazel, still retains its yellow blossoms, in defiance of
the later frosts. Nothing is lively around it but the
evergreens, and no plant puts forth its blossoms after
this, unless some flower of spring should peep out un-
seasonably from under the protection of some sunny
knoll. The evergreens are now in all their beauty, and
we search the fields in vain for aught but the presages
of winter.

XXXI.

OCTOBER.

Tue cool and temperate breezes that prevail at this
time almost constantly from the west, attended with a
clear atmosphere, denote the arrival of the brilliant
month of October, with its climate that alternately
chills the frame with frosty vapors by night, and enlivens.
the heart with beauty and sunshine by day. At sun-
rise and sundown, the villagers are gathered round their:
fires, shivering with the cold; the chirping insects have
also crept into their shelters and are silent. But ere the:
sun has gained half his meridian height, the villagers.
have forsaken their fires, and are busy in the orchards
beneath the glowing sunshine; and the insects aroused:
from their torpor, and warmed into new life, have again.
commenced their chirping as merrily as in August. A
multitude of winged insects that could hardly creep:
with torpor in the morning, are now darting and spin-
ning among the variegated herbage of the meadows, and.
the crickets are again singing their peculiar monotonous
songs among the grassy knolls.

There are occasionally dull and cloudy days in Octo-
ber, the dreary precursors of approaching winter; but

21

242 STUDIES IN THE FIELD AND FOREST.

the most of them are bright and clear, and unequalled
by those of any other period in exhilarating salubrity.
There are no slecrping mists drawn over the skies to
obscure the transparency of the atmosphere ; but far as
the eye can reach, the distant hills lift up their heads
with a clear unclouded outline, and the blue arch of
heaven preserves its pure azure, down almost to the
bounds of the horizon. In the mornings of such days
a white fleecy cloud is settled upon the streams and
lowlands, in which the carly sunbeams are refracted
with all the myriad hues of dawn, forming halos and
imperfect rainbows, that seem to be pictured on a
groundwork of drifted snow. By this vapor, nearly
motionless at sunrise, we may trace the winding course
of the small rivers, far along through the distant pros-
pect. But the sun quickly dissipates this fleecy cloud.
As the winds float it slowly and gracefully over the
plains, it melts into transparency ; and ere the sun has
gained ten degrees in his orbit, the last feathery frag-
ment has vanished, and left him in the clear blue firma-
ment, to pursuc the remainder of his career, without
one shadow to tarnish his glory.

October is one of the most brilliant of the months.
unsurpassed in the clearness of its skies, and in the
wonderful varicty of tints which are sprinkled over all
vegetation. He who has an eye and a taste for beauti-
ful colors, must ever admire the scenery of this last
month of foliage and flowers. As nature loses the
delicacy of her charms, she is more lavish of the gaudy
decorations, with which she embroiders her apparel.
While she appears before us in her living attire, from
the carly spring to the late autumn, she is constantly
changing her vesture with each revolving month. The
flowers that spangle the green turf, or wreathe them-

‘

OCTOBER. 243

selves upon the trees and vines, and the green herbage
with all its various shades of verdure, constitute, with
their successive changes, her spring and summer adorn-
ment; but ere the fall of the leaf, she makes herself
garlands of the withering foliage, and crowns the brows
of her mountains and the bosoms of her forests in the
most beautiful array.

Though the present is a melancholy time of the year,
we are preserved from cheerless reflections, by the bright-
ness of the sunshine and the interminable beauty of the
landscape. The sky in clear weather, is of the deepest
blue; and the ocean and the lakes, slightly ruffled by
the fluttering October winds, which are seldom tranquil,
acquire a peculiar depth of coloring, unwitnessed when
their surface is calm. Diverted by the unusual charms
of nature, while we look with a mournful heart upon the
graves of the flowers, we involuntarily turn our eyes
upward and around us, where the woods are gleaming
like a wilderness of roses, and forget in our ravishment,
the lovely things we have lost. As the flowers wither
and vanish from our sight, their colors seem to revive in
the foliage of the trees, as if each dying blossom had
bequeathed its beauty to the forest boughs, that had
kindly protected it from wind and blast. The trees are.
one by one putting aside their vesture of green, and
slowly assuming their new robe of many hues. From
the beginning to the end of the month, the landscape
suffers a complete metamorphosis; and October may
be said to represent in the successive changes of its
aspect, all the floral magnificence of summer.

Notwithstanding the late frosts, the grass is still
green. from the valleys to the hill-tops, and many a
flower is still smiling upon us, as if there were no winter
in the year. Many fair ones still linger in their cheer-

244 STUDIES IN THE FIELD AND FOREST.

ful but faded bowers, the emblems of contentment,
seeming perfectly happy, if they can but greet a few
beams of sunshine to temper the frosty gales. In wet
places I still behold the lovely neottia, with its small
white flowers, arranged in a spiral line about their stem,
and giving out the delicate incense of a fresh-blown
lily. The purple gerardia, too, has not yet forsaken us;
and the gentians, and the golden coreopsis will wait to
welcome the next month before they wholly leave our
borders. 5

If we quit the fields we find in the gardens a profu-
sion of lively exotics. Dahlias, china-asters, and nu-
merous other plants that were created for the embellish-
ment of other climes, are rewarding the hands that
cherished them with their fairest forms and hues. All
these are destined, not like the flowers of our own
clime, to bloom throughout their natural period, and
then sink quietly into decay; but they are cut down by
frosts in the very summer of their loveliness. Already
are their leaves withered and blackened, while the
native plants, in defiance of the frost, grow brighter
and brighter with every new morning, until they are
finally seared by the icy breath of November.

But to the forests we must look, to behold the fairest
spectacle of the season, now glowing with the infinitely
varied and constantly multiplying tints of a summer
sunset. The first changes appear in the low grounds,
where vegetation is exposed to the earliest blights, and
is prematurely ripened by the alternation of chill dews
and sunshine. Very early in the season, we behold
these tints scattered among the glossy green leaves of
the tupelo-tree, giving to those which have received the
tinge, the appearance of scarlet blossoms intermingled
with the foliage. But the maples assume a more rapid

OCTOBER. 245

transformation. Sometimes in the space of one night,
a whole tree will suddenly, as if by enchantment, put
off its green robe and appear in a full garb of crimson.
The leaves are suddenly metamorphosed into flowers,
as if the dew-drops brought with them the hues of the
beautiful clouds from which they fell. But while some
trees are thoroughly changed in their appearance, others
are only impurpled with a delicate shade of red, or
slightly tinged with orange or russet ; for nature, while
decorating some in one uniform color, scatters over the
remainder a gentle sprinkling of every hue.

It is my delight, during all this month, to ramble in
the field and by the wood side, to take note of these
changes, as they happen by day. Every morning as it
arrives, witnesses a new aspect in the face of nature,
like each passing moment that attends the brightening
and fading of the evening sky. The landscape we
visited but yesterday, seems to-day like a different pros-
pect, save in the arrangement of the grounds. Beauty
has suddenly awoke upon the face of a dull and homely
wood, and variety has sprung up in the midst of tire-
some uniformity. ‘There are patches of brightly tinted
shrubbery, that. seem to have risen, during the night,
from the bed of the earth, where yesterday there was
but a dull uniform green; and when surrounded by the
unfaded grasses, they resemble little flower plats, im-
bosomed in verdure. As the month advances, one
tree after another partakes of this beautiful transforma-
tion. No two trees exhibit the same combinations of
tints; but all the varieties of red, yellow, and purple
are resplendent from the different species. It seems
as if the departed flowers of summer had revisited

the earth, and were wreathing their congregated gar-
21*

246 STUDIES IN THE FIELD AND FOREST.

‘

lands around the brows of the woods and the moun-
tains.

In the early part of the month, the most of the trees
are still green in the uplands, but not brightly green as
in summer. ‘Their verdure is faded and rusty, and in
some it is even darker than it was during the health and
vigor of the foliage. But it is a sombre complexion
produced by age, and not a deeper green. The ash-
tree grows darker, by receiving a deep mulberry shade,
mingled almost imperceptibly with the greenness of the
leaf. This tint gradually brightens, into a brownish
lilac, with a peculiar transparency, and soon the leaves,
after fading into yellow, rapidly fall from the tree. The
leaves of several species of the oak partake of a deeper
shade, just before they assume the purple and chocolate
hues that precede their decay. Though many trees are
marked by a variety of shades, there is always in the
‘foliage of the same tree a predominance of one color.
The maples exhibit the different reds and yellows, from
orange and vermilion, through every gradation of scar-
Jet and crimson, while the willows, elms, and birches
are dyed with the various shades of olive, yellow, and
russet. The aspens, too, present a mixture of green and
yellow, and their tinted leaves, as they tremble in the
wind, resemble a multitude of golden butterflies, futter-
ing and sporting among their branches. While con-
templating this gorgeous scene of splendor, our eyes
are attracted towards an occasional towering evergreen,
that stands alone among the glittering multitude, un-
shorn. of its verdure, like some proud spirit, that scorns
the fashions of the world.

On every side of our walk, various plats of herbage
gleam upon our sight, each with one unmingled shade

OCTOBER. 247

of some lively hue; and every shrub and every leafy
herb presents the appearance of a scattered variety of
bouquets, wreaths, and floral embroidery. It would seem
as if the wood-nymphs, while fleeing from northern
gales, in quest of summer groves, had left their robes
upon the beds of the flowers, to protect them from the
blasts of winter. The farms in the lowlands exhibit
wide fields of intermingled orange and russet, and the
shrubs of different colors that spring up among them in
tufts and knolls, add to the spectacle an endless variety
of splendor. The creeping herbs and trailing vines,
some of which are still begemmed with fruit, exhibit
the same variety of tinting, as if designed for wreaths to
garland the gray rocks, and to yield a smile to the face
of nature, that shall make glad the heart of the solitary
rambler, who is ready to weep over the fair objects that
have fled.

Day and night have, at length, about equally divided
the light and the darkness. The time of the latter
harvest is nearly past, and the winter fruits are mostly
gathered and stored into barns. The mornings and
evenings are cool and cheerless, and the west wind has
grown harsh and uncomfortable. The bland weather
of early autumn is rapidly gliding from our year. Night
is continually encroaching upon the dominion of day.
The white frosts already glitter in the arbors of the
summer dews, and the cold north wind is whistling
rudely in the haunts of the sweet summer zephyrs.
The scents of fading leaves, and of the ripened har-
vest, have driven out the delicate incense of the flow-
ers, whose fragrant offerings have all ascended to
heaven. Dark threatening clouds occasionally frown
upon us, as they gather for a few hours about the hori-
zon, the melancholy omens of the coming of winter.

248 STUDIES IN THE FIELD AND FOREST.

But there is pleasantness still in a rural excursion,
and when the cold mists of dawn have passed away,
and the hoarfrost has melted in the warm sunshine, it
is my delight to go forth into the fields, to take note of
the last beautiful things of summer vegetation, that
linger in the threshold of autumn.

XXXII.

CLOUDS.

Tue sky would present very little in the daytime, to
charm the sight or interest the mind, if it were destitute
of clouds. From these proceed all the beautiful tints
of sunrise and sunset, the rainbow, and the various con-
figurations that deck the arches of the firmament. The
different forms and colors they assume in their progress
through the atmosphere, and their ever varying positions
and combinations are capable of awakening the most
agreeable emotions of beauty and sublimity. I shall not
speak of the scientific arrangements of clouds. The
classifications of natural objects are necessary to the
progress of science, to enable the mind to grasp all their
species, and to understand their differences and their
relations. But these artificial systems have done more
than any vulgar prejudice to render the study of nature
unpopular. ‘The immense vocabulary of terms pre-
sented to the mind of the young student, gives him a
magnified sense of the task he must perform, at the
very threshold of nature’s temple, that discourages him,
and deters him from entéring within it. I shall simply
treat of clouds as they appear to the eyes and the mind
of a person of sensibility and fancy.

250 STUDIES IN THE FIELD AND FOREST.

The greatest painters have delighted in the represen-
tation of clouds, knowing that there is no landscape
that may not be improved by their celestial forms and
tints, and that a scene representing any passion or situ-
ation may be heightened by such accompaniments, har-
monizing with the cheerfulness or the sadness, with the
lowliness or magnificence of the subject. Poets have
ever been mindful of the same effects; and the Hebrew
prophets have exalted the sublimity of their descrip-
tions, and increased the efficacy of their prophecies and
their admonitions, by employing imagery derived from
these appearances, rightly deeming the scenery of the
heavens the most proper to illustrate their sacred themes,
and the divine attributes of the Deity. Hence the
Lord, who set his bow in a cloud as the token of a
covenant between him and the earth, is represented as
making the clouds his chariot and his pavilion when
ascending to heaven, or when descending to earth to
speak to the messengers of his will.

T am at a loss whether to attribute the peculiar
pleasure that attends us, on a sight of the varied forms
and hues of clouds, to the physical effect of light and
colors upon the sensorium, or to mental association.
It is certain that no spectacle in nature produces so in-
tense an emotion of cheerfulness and sublimity. The
latter emotion is inost commonly excited by sombre
scenes, added to something that affects one with a cer-
tain amount of terror, while he retains a consciousness
of security. But when the western clouds, piled in
glittering arches one above another, and widening as
they recede from the great. source of light, exhibit their
several gradations of hues, from the outermost arch,
successively, of violet, purple, crimson, vermilion, and
orange, until the eyes are dazzled by the golden radi-

CLOUDS. 251

ance that beams from the throne of day, the mind
is affected with an emotion of sublimity, unallied
with terror, and accompanied with the most cheerful
exaltation.

Every scene in the universe is attended, when we
behold it, by a peculiar and specific sensation. Our
emotions are as nearly infinite as our thoughts; and
nature provides an infinite variety of scenes to harmo-
nize with all, that no existing susceptibility to pleasure
shall be lost, for the want of something external to act
upon it, and render it available as a source of happiness.
The human countenance is not more varied in its ex-
pressions than the face of nature. There are beams in
the countenance of morn and even, capable of irradiat-
ing into our souls a feeling of intense delight; and it
is no marvel that nature should seem, as the poets have
described her, to smile upon us in the sunshine that
sparkles in the morning dews, and gilds the evening
sky, or in the moonlight that reveals to us a new firma-
ment of wonders among the silvery clouds of night.
The forms and tints of the clouds produce effects upon
the mind that vary with the hour of the day. In the
morning there is a feeling of hopefulness attending the
spectacle of the constantly increasing splendor of the
clouds, commencing with the dark purple tints of dawn,
and widening with beautiful radiating undulations,
through their whole succession of hues, into perfect
day. As we are prepared by the buoyant feelings that
come from the spectacle of dawn, to enter with a glad
heart upon the duties of the day, we are equally in-
spired by the spectacle of sunset, with a sentiment
of tranquillity, that prepares us for sound and healthful
repose.

It is not difficult to understand that if the sun rose

252 STUDIES IN THE FIELD AND FOREST.

clearly into the blue heavens, without any changes ex-
cept from darkness to light, through all the degrees of
twilight, the charms of the morning would be greatly
diminished. But nature, that all hearts might be
enamoured of the morn, has wreathed her temples with
dappled crimson, and animated her countenance with
those milder glories, that so well become the fair
daughter of the dawn and the gentle mother of dews.
In ancient fable Aurora is a beautiful nymph, who
blushes when she first enters into the presence of Day;
and the clouds are the fabric with which she veils her
features at his approach. But a young person of sen-
sibility needs no such allegories, to inspire his mind
with a sense of the incomparable beauty and grandeur
of the orient, at the break of day. It is associated with
some of the happiest moments of his life; and the ex-
hilarated feelings, amounting almost to transport, with
which we look upon the dayspring in the east, are
probably one cause of the tonic and healthful influence
of early rising.

Many theories have at different times been advanced
to explain the cause of the varying tints of the clouds;
but it is at length conceded that they receive and reflect
the sun’s rays as they are changed by passing through
the atmosphere, and that their tints are owing to no
peculiar refrangibility of the globules of vapor. As
the sun declines and sinks below the horizon, the whole
surrounding mediuin passes through the same series of
tints which are seen in the clouds. Were a snowy
mountain situated directly before our eyes, we should
see the graduated tints of yellow and orange at the
summit, deepening into crimson and purple in the
middle, and fading into dusky twilight at the base of
the mountain. Hence in winter, when the sky is per-

CLOUDS. 253

fectly clear, and the atmosphere purely transparent, the
snow that covers the roofs of the houses, and the tops
of the hills, is more or less gilded and crimsoned by the
rays of the declining sun.

The forms of clouds are not less beautiful or expres-
sive than their colors. While their outlines are sufh-
ciently indefinite for picturesque effects, they often
assume a great uniformity in their aggregations. The
frostwork upon the window panes, on cold winter
mornings, exhibits no greater variety of figures than that
assumed by the clouds in their distribution over the
heavens. Beginning in the form of vapor that rolls its
fleecy masses slowly over the plain, resembling, at a
distance, sometimes a smooth sheet of water, and at
other times a drifted snow bank, the cloud divides itself
as it ascends, into heaps of globular figures, that reflect
the sunlight from a thousand silvery domes. These,
after gradually dissolving, reappear in a host of finely
mottled images, resembling the scales of a fish, then
marshal themselves into undulating rows like the waves
of the sea, and are lastly metamorphosed into a thin
gauzy fabric, like crumpled muslin, or in a long drapery
of hair-like fringe overspreading the highest regions of
the atmosphere.

These different forms of cloud are elevated according
to the fineness of their texture and organization, the
finer and more complicated fabrics occupying the space
above the next in degree. We often observe three
layers of clouds separated by sufficient space to receive
all the different hues of sunset at the same moment.
While the feather clouds, that occupy the greatest ele-
vation, are burnished with a dazzling radiance, the
middle layers of dappled cloud will be tipt with crim-
son, while the violet and indigo hues prevail in the

22

254 STUDIES IN THE FIELD AND FOREST.

dense, unorganized mass that is spread out below. It
may be remarked, both of the forms and hues of clouds,
that nature permits no harsh contrasts or sudden transi-
tions. The different hues are laid softly one above
another, melting into each other like those in the
plumage of a bird of paradise. You can never see
where one hue terminates and another commences. It
is the same, in a less degree, with their forms, that
never, for two minutes in succession, remain unaltered.
They exhibit a pleasing irregularity, and are almost
destitute of outlines, so that the imagination is left to
carve out of their obscure figures and arrangements,
aerial landscapes, bright sunny valleys, and waving
plains, with villages surrounded by turrets and the pin-
nacles of mountains.

The imagination is always stimulated by a certain
degree of obscurity in the objects of sight and sound,
as well as of thought. The sublime passages of the
poets are often obscure, suggestive of something that
produces a well-defined emotion, but no distinct image
to the understanding. It is this quality that gives their
power to certain remarkable passages in the Hebrew
prophets. In a terrestrial landscape, when viewed by
daylight, the outlines of objects, except at a distance,
are so distinct that we can see and easily describe their
forms and character. Distant objects have a dimness
of outline, and a misty obscurity, which are favorable
to au expression of sublimity. In the darkness of night
the forms of trees exhibit the indefinite shapes of
clouds, and the imagination is free to indulge its
caprices, while, as we pass by them in a journey ora
ramble, the eyes are watching their apparent motions
and changes of form.

By no scenes in nature, therefore, is the imagination

CLOUDS. 255

so powerfully excited as by these celestial phenomena,
whether we imagine the gates of heaven to be opened
beneath the triumphal arches of sunset, or watch the
passing of the gloomy precursors of evil days, in the
dark irregular masses that deform the sky before a
storm. The picturesque effects of clouds are in a great
measure attributable to the dubious character of their
configurations, giving rise to peculiar fancies, and
awakening sentiments suggested only by the loftiest
images of poetry. The shadows of passing clouds, as
they fall upon the earth, often moving rapidly with the
wind, are circumstances that add greatly to their ex-
pression. Above all do their motions contribute to the
beauty of landscape, when, through some opening in
their dense masses while the greater part of the pros-
pect is enveloped in shade, the sun pours a full stream
of glory upon a distant grove, village, or range of
hills.

The system of the universe is attended with so many
circumstances that mar our happiness, that the Author
of nature has benevolently spread every scene with
beauty, that shall serve, by its exhilarating influence, to
lift us above the physical evils that surround us, and
render us half unmindful of their presence. For this
reason beauty is made to spring up, not only in the
landscape, in the wilderness, and by the way-side, by
the sea-shore and the inland valley; but it is spread in
the most gorgeous spectacles upon the heavens, in the
infinitely varied forms and arrangements of clouds, and
in their equally beautiful lights, shades, and colors.
Hence the man of cultivated sentiment, who takes
pleasure in surveying the beauties of a terrestrial land-
scape, feels no less delight in contemplating the scenery
of the heavens. Every morning, noon, and evening,

256 STUDIES IN THE FIELD AND FOREST.

afford him scenes always charming and never tiresome,
fraught with lessons of divine wisdom and benevolence,
never heard from the lips of man, and read only in the
works of him who silently shows forth his wonders in
the landscape and the firmament.

As the most delightful views of the ocean are ob-
tained when a small part of it is seen through a green
recess in a wood, for the same reason, the blue sky is
never so beautiful as when seen through the openings of
clouds. The emotion produced by any scene whatever
is always more intense, when the greater part of the
object is hidden, leaving room for the entrance of fanci-
ful images into the mind. Clouds are peculiarly sug-
gestive on account of the ambiguity of their shapes,
and their constant changes of form and arrangement.
No person can look at their radiant groups, if he possess
any liveliness of fancy, without indulging a variety of
poetic vagaries. Nothing, indeed, in nature so closely
resembles the mysterious operations of thought, ever
ceaseless in their motions, and ever varying in their
combinations ; now passing from a shapeless heap into
a finely marshalled band, then dissolving into the
pellucid atmosphere, as a series of thoughts will pass
away from our memory; then slowly forming them-
selves again, and recombining in a still more beautiful
and dazzling congeries, in another part of the sky; now
gloomy, changeable, and formless, then assuming a
definite shape, and glowing with the most lovely beams
of light and beauty; and lastly, fading into darkness
when the sun departs, as the mind for a short period
becomes obliterated in sleep.

Perhaps not every one has observed, that in the even-
ing after the hues of the clouds have once faded, they
are often reilluminated before darkness comes on. Im-

CLOUDS. 257

mediately after sunset, the clouds that surround the
western horizon have no remarkable tints, the body of
them being of a dark gray, or ash color, having their
edges tipt with white. As the sun retires below the
hemisphere, the gray portion of the clouds becomes
brown or auburn, and the silvery edges of a yellow or
golden hue. While the auburn is gradually changing
into purple, the yellows deepen into orange and ver-
milion. Every tint is constantly changing into a
deeper one, until the sky is decorated with every imag-
inable color, excepting green and blue. The two last
are ingredients in some of the compound hues, but they
are never seen in their purity. When these colors have
attained their maximum of splendor, they gradually
fade away, until the body of each cloud has turned to a
dull iron gray, and every gorgeous tint has vanished.
The spectator then supposes that all this scene of glory
is ended. After a few minutes, however, the clouds
begin once more to brighten, the whole picture is gradu-
ally reilluminated and passes through another gradation
of more sombre tints, consisting of olive, lilac, and
bronze, or some of their shades. The second illumina-
tion is not so bright or so beautiful as the first; but I
have known the light that falls upon the earth to be
sensibly increased by this reillumination, without any
diminution of the mass of clouds,

It is difficult to explain the source of those highly
pleasurable emotions with which we contemplate the
tints of the morning and evening sky. No man can
look at them without being convinced that there is
intrinsic beauty in colors; though it is the opinion of
some philosophers that even the sensations that spring
from the sight of colors arise from their expression.

22*

258 STUDIES IN THE FIELD AND FOREST.

There are unnumbered mysterious sources from which
our ideas and sentiments are obtained ; and the capacity
of any thing in nature to produce a pleasing or a dis-
pleasing thought or sentiment, constitutes the expression
of that object. As light produces cheerfulness, and
darkness gloom, it may be that all the different colors
have a similar natural association with some certain
mood of mind, and are capable of arousing certain
trains of thought which may lead to some definite ideas
and images. Nature, who creates nothing in vain, and
who, by the songs of birds, inspires the human heart
with the sentiment of adoration, may, by this spectacle
of empyrean beauty, lift the mind above a purely sen-
sual philosophy, to the contemplation of that infinite
wisdom that pervades the universe.

Men of the world may praise the effects of certain
medical excitants that serve, by benumbing the out-
ward senses, to exalt the soul into reveries of bliss and
untried exercises of thought. But the only truly
divine exhilaration proceeds from contemplating the
beautiful and sublime scenes of nature, as beheld on
the face of the earth and the heavens. It is under this
vast canopy of celestial splendors, more than in any
other situation, that the faculties may become inspired,
without madness, and exalted without subsequent de-
pression. I never believe so much in the immortality
of the soul as when, at sunset, I look through a long
vista of luminous clouds, far down into that mystic
region of light in which, we are fain to imagine, are
deposited the secrets of the universe. I cannot believe
that all this panorama of unimaginable loveliness,
which is spread out over earth, sea, and sky, is without
some moral signification. The blue heavens are the

CLOUDS. 259

page whereon nature has revealed some pleasant inti-
mations of the mysteries of a more spiritual existence ;
and no charming vision of heaven and immortality ever
entered the human soul, but the Deity responded to
it upon the firmament, in letters of gold, ruby, and
sapphire.

XXXII.

WATER SCENERY.

THERE is no single thing in nature that adds more
beauty to landscape than water. It is emblematical of
purity and tranquillity ; it is suggestive of multitudes
of pleasant rural images, and, besides these moral ex-
pressions, it possesses a great deal of intrinsic beauty.
The mirrored surface of a lake or a stream, reflecting
the hues and forms of the clouds in the heavens, and
of the trees and shrubbery on its banks, is pleasing to
the eye, independently of any suggestion that may
occur to a fanciful mind. The eye requires to be prac-
tised, or rather the mind must be educated in a certain
manner, before it can enjoy and appreciate moral
beauty. But the beauty of a smooth surface of water,
of waves trembling in the moonlight, of a spouting
fountain, or a sparkling rill, is ebvious and attractive
even to a child. In water have color and form and
motion intimately combined their charms, assuming
the loveliest tints in the dews of heaven and the spray
of the ocean, and every imaginable form of beauty in
the lake and its sinuosities, and the river in its various
windings through vale and mountain.

Water is not only beautiful in itself; but it is one of

WATER SCENERY. 261

the chief sources of pleasing variety in the expression
of landscape, whether we view it as spread out on the
silver bosom of a lake, the serpentine course of a river,
or by its outlines forming those endless changes, that
delight the voyager by the sea-shore. Every one must
have observed, when riding through an unattractive
country, how it seems overspread with a sudden charm,
when we come in sight of a lake ora stream. What
was before monotonous is now agreeably varied ; what
before was spiritless is now animated and cheering. A
sitnilar effect is produced by the sight of a little cottage
in a desert or uninhabited region, or in the midst of an
uncultivated plain. The eye wanders about unsatisfied,
until it sees this human dwelling, when it rests con-
tented, because it has found something to fix the atten-
tion and to awaken a sympathetic interest. We are
not always aware how greatly the beauty of landscape
is founded on our habitual associations. At the sight
of water we think at once of the numerous delights,
bounties, and luxuries, that flow from its beneficent
streams; and perhaps nothing in a prospect so instan-
taneously awakens the idea of plenty, and of the benefi-
cence of nature. Water is, therefore, the very picture
of benevolence, without which the face of the country
would seem cold, ungenerous, and barren.

A feeling of seclusion is one of the agreeable emo-
tions connected with a ramble in the woods ; and some
delightful spots derive their principal attractions from
their evident adaptedness to this security from observa-
tion. When we are walking either alone or in com-
pany, we do not like to be met by others, or to be
observed by them. A little sequestered spot, that seems
to offer all this desirable shelter from the eyes of the
world, is always singularly attractive. But those are

262 STUDIES IN THE FIELD AND FOREST.

the most eligible retreats in which one might be
secluded, and at the same time accommodated with a
pleasant and extensive prospect. To be able to look
out upon the world from a little nook, while unobserved
and not liable to be interrupted by others, affords one
an experience of the same emotion with which we con-
template the raging of a storm, from a place of comfort
and security.

Water is in a high degree favorable to the attain-
ment of these pleasant advantages. Let two parties be
placed in opposite points, with a small lake intervening,
and though full in sight of one another, they still feel
secluded. The pleasantness of their retreat, under
these circumstances, is enlivened by the sight of the
Opposite party, who may be amused by observing one
another’s motions, and at the same time feel secure
from intrusion. But if there were only a meadow of
equal width to separate them, the secluded character of
the situation would be lost; as the parties are not only
in sight of one another, but are liable to be interrupted
by a visit from the opposite one. A lake may in this
way be the occasion of many of those delightful re-
treats, attended with advantages of prospect, which no
other combination of scenes could so well afford. The
beauty of many of these situations depends greatly on
their apparent adaptedness to this kind of recreation
and seclusion.

A river, especially of moderate width, is in many
respects more beautiful than a lake; and more than any
other collection of water suggests the idea of infinity
and of continued progression. I never look upon a
clear stream of narrow dimensions, without thinking of
the thousand beautiful scenes it must visit, in its blue
course through the hills and plains. What a life of

WATER SCENERY. 263

perpetual delight must be led by the gentle river god-
dess, as she is wafted up and down the stream in her
shallop of reeds! Now coursing along under banks
sprinkled all over with honeysuckles, while their fra-
grance follows the current of the stream, to entice the
bees and other insects to their fragrant flower-cups ;
then passing through a pleasant forest where she is re-
galed by the terebinthine odor of pines mingled with
that of flowering lindens, whose branches resound all
day with the hum of insects and the warbling of birds;
every green bank offers to her hand a profusion of wild
strawberries, and every rocky declivity hangs its bram-
bles over the stream, and tempts her with delicate clus-
ters of raspberries, and other delicious fruits. How,
if she takes pleasure in the happiness of human beings,
must she be charmed by witnessing the plenty which is
everywhere diffused by the crystal waters of her own
stream; the countless farms rendered fertile and pro-
ductive though its agency; the numerous mill seats
that derive their power from its falls and rapids, and
gather the industrious inhabitants in smiling hamlets
upon its banks! A river, when pursuing its winding
course along the plain, alternately appearing and dis-
appearing among the hills and woods, suggests the idea
of a pleasant journey, and is peculiarly emblematical of
human progress. It always seems to me that it must
conduct one to some happier region, and that if I
traced it to its source, I should be led into the very
temple of the Naiads!

With the different forms of water are associated
nearly all the pleasant images of rural life. To one
who is tired of his busy employments in the city, a
rural retreat is like a cool breeze to the traveller in a
sultry desert. A little arbor, that overlooks a river, a

264 STUDIES IN THE FIELD AND FOREST.

lake, or an arm of the sea, derives its charms almost.
wholly from the water, which is at the same time the
symbol of peace and plenty, and the mirror of heaven.
A hermitage by the side of a stream affords a secret
retreat, still more delightful from its fancied association
with pious seclusion from the world. Every flower
that looks up to us from the green, mossy turf; every
bird that warbles in the neighboring copse, and every
insect that hums in the herbage at our feet, has a sooth-
ing influence, that for a season dispels every care, and
every feverish excitement. Then do we feel that nature
only has power to administer that solace which is balm
to the soul, when one is vexed with care and weary of
men.

One of the sentiments often awakened by a water
prospect, is that of sublimity. But this can only arise
from an extensive view of the ocean or of a cataract.
Ordinarily, therefore, except by the sea-shore, we sel-
dom behold a sufficient expanse of water to affect us
with a sentiment of grandeur. This influence is greater
when a wide sea-view comes suddenly upon the eye,
after one has passed through a succession of beautiful,
quiet, and rather confined scenes. Small lakes and
rivers greatly enhance the beauty of a pastoral land-
scape, because they afford the best evidence of good
pasturage as well as of a plentiful supply of water to
the flocks and grazing herds. Painters, taking advan-
tage of this expression, often represent in one of their
side views, the cattle standing up to their knees ina
little pond of water, while the green rushes and unde-
faced shrubbery growing about them make manifest its
clearness and purity. Ocean scenery is not favorable
to pastoral expression; but it enhances the beauty of
sunrise, and adds grandeur to the sublimity of a tempest.

WATER SCENERY. 265

Many writers have eulogized an ocean prospect, as
beheld from a point where we can see no land. The
views presented by the ocean, from different points on
the shore, which is broken and intersected by frequent
inlets of water, we can never cease to admire; but I
have little sympathy with these lovers of boundless
space. The eye soon tires of gazing upon a scene that
awakens no other emotion but that of infinity, and pre-
sents no point as a resting-place for the imagination.
To the sublimity of an ocean voyage, with its moun-
tainous waves and its interminable azure, I prefer a
boat excursion on a narrow stream, where the trees ‘on
the opposite banks frequently interlace their branches
over the middle of the current, and the plashing of the
oar often startles the little twittering sandpiper that is
feeding upon the edge of the stream. The sight of a
small lake surrounded by woods, and dotted all round
its borders with full-blown water-lilies, over whose
broadspread leaves the little plover glides, without im-
pressing a ripple on the glossy brink, gives me more
pleasure than I could derive from any view of the ocean,
bounded only by the horizon.

‘Water needs the accompaniment of field and wood
to form a picture that is agreeable to the eye. With-
out such adjuncts, it is like the sky when it has no
clouds, and is void of all pleasing suggestions. The
pleasure of angling on the banks of a river or a lake,
is greatly magnified by the prospect of the agreeable
combination of wood and water scenery that sur-
rounds us. ‘he beauty of an island is like that of a
lake ; and it is hard to say which of the two affects the
spectator with the most delight, though I am inclined
to believe that the majority would decide in favor of
the island. The island, especially if there be a little

23

266 STUDIES IN THE FIELD AND FOREST.

cottage upon it, is suggestive of a multitude of pleas-
ing fancies connected with rural life and retirement. In
this case, we think not so much of the difficulty of
gaining access to town, or even of coming on shore, as
of the peaceful seclusion it seems calculated to afford.
The lake suggests no such ideas; it is chiefly attractive
by its own beautiful sheen of crystal water, by its as-
sociation with boat excursions on serene afternoons or
moonlight evenings, and with rural pleasures connected
with the scenes on its shore.

XXXIV.

NOVEMBER.

—e—

A CHANGE has lately come over the face of nature;
the bright garniture of the woods and pastures has
faded; the fall of the leaf has arrived, and the sun
gleams brightly through the naked branches of the
trees, into the late dark recesses of the forest. In some
years the leaves of the trees remain unseared by frost,
until November has tarried with us many days. It is
then melancholy to observe the complete change, that
will suddenly take place in the aspect of the woods,
after the first wintry night. The longer this fatal blast
is deferred, the more sudden and manifest are its effects.
The fields to-day may be glowing in the fairest hues of
autumnal splendor. One night passes away ;—a night
of still, freezing cold, depositing a dense and beautiful
frostwork on the windows—and lo! a complete robe
of monotonous brown covers the wide forest, and all its
variegated colors have vanished. After this frost, the
leaves fall rapidly from the trees; and the first vigorous
wind will completely disrobe them of their foliage.

This change, however, is usually more gradual.
Slight frosts occur, one after another, during many
successive nights, each adding a browner tint to the

268 STUDIES IN THE FIELD AND FOREST.

foliage, and causing the different trees to shed their
leaves in natural succession. Though November is the
time of the true fall of the leaf, yet many trees cast off
their vesture in October; but some of the oaks usually
retain their brown, rustling foliage during the whole of
the winter; and many are the birds that find beneath
them a comfortable shelter from the storm. The wil-
lows and many of the fruit-trees retain their verdure
to a late period in the autumn, and shed their leaves
only upon the arrival of winter. In the low grounds,
there is little foliage to be seen after the middle of Oc-
tober. At that time, if we stand on a moderate eleva-
tion, commanding a view of hill, valley, and plain, we
may observe the naked and desolate aspect of winter
in the swamps, where the frosts make their earliest visit;
while on the uplands and hill-sides, the woods are still
in almost full foliage.

The flowering season closed with the last month; yet
sometimes after a spell of mild weather, especially after
a drought, a few spring flowers will appear, and we ob-
serve a second blossoming of some of the boughs in
the orchards. A few asters are still seen in the woods,
and here and there, on the green southern slopes, a vio-
let looks upon you with its mild blue eye, like a star of
promise, to remind us of the beauties of the next re-
viving spring. There is a kind of melancholy pleasure
attending a ramble at this time, among the fading
woods and pastures, while we take notice of the
changes of the season, and of the care with which
nature provides for the preservation of her charge, dur-
ing the coming season of cold. All sounds that meet
the ear are in harmony with our feelings. ‘The breezes
murmur with a plaintive moan, while shaking the drop-
ping leaves from the trees, as if they felt a sympathy

NOVEMBER. 269

with the general decay; and carefully strew them over
the beds of the flowers, to afford them a warm covering
and protection from the ungenial winter. The sere and
yellow leaves, eddying with the fitful breezes, fill up the
hollows of the pastures, where the slumbering lilies and
violets repose, and collect around the borders of the
woods, where the vernal flowers are sleeping, and re-
quire their warmth and protection. Thus nature
kindly guards the objects of her charge, from the evils
to which they are inevitably exposed, affording an
emblem of that providential care, which, though un-
seen, is always extended over us, to protect us from
those evils which misfortune or our own improvidence
may have created.

As the month advances, the hoary aspect of winter
becomes more and more apparent over the face of the
landscape. The scarlet berries of the rose and the
ptinos are conspicuous upon their leafless stems, and
the nests of birds, hitherto concealed, are disclosed to
observation by the absence of the foliage. The brown
fruit of the hazel is bending from its naked branches,
and the prickly globes of the chestnut are scattered
abundantly beneath its lofty boughs. The asters,
golden-rods, and other autumnal flowers, which a month
since were in all their splendor, now cover the plains
with a kind of hoary plumage, consisting of globular
heads of down, into which they have been transformed.
These downy wreaths are hardly less elegant than the
flowers, and form one of the most interesting appear-
ances of the landscape at the present time. The
plumed seeds of the thistle are sailing upon the wind,
and the feathery tassels of the clematis are hanging
from the vines, making a warm shelter for the birds in

their time of need.
23 *

270 STUDIES IN THE FIELD AND FOREST.

There are rural sounds as well as rural sights which
are characteristic of this and every other month of the
year. The piping of the frogs in spring, the warbling
of birds in the early summer, and the chirping of insects
in the latter summer and the early autumn, are all asso-
ciated with the beauties and the bounties of their re-
spective seasons. The chirping of insects declines dur-
ing October, and dies away to silerce by the middle of
the present month; and then do the voices of the
winter birds become more audible in their woodland
solitudes. Their harsh, unmusical voices harmonize
not unpleasantly with the murmuring of wintry winds,
and with the desolate appearance of nature. The
water birds assemble in large flocks upon the lakes and
in the harbors, and become peculiarly loquacious; and
occasionally on still evenings, we hear the cackling
flight of geese, as they are proceeding aloft in the
heavens to the places of their hyemal abode. These
different sounds, though unmusical and melancholy,
awaken many pleasing recollections of past years, and
are not unattended with emotions of tranquillizing
pleasure.

No person, who visits the fields at the present time,
can fail to perceive the change that has taken place in
the perfumes of the air, since the leaves began to fall.
There is no fragrance of blooming gardens, of flowering
meads, or sweet-scented groves. The very grass, if per-
chance a late crop has been mowed by the husbandman,
sends out a different fragrance from that of haying-time.
The flowers of autumn are generally almost scentless ;
but there is a pleasant odor arising from the fallen
leaves, when the sun is drying up the frost, which the
preceding night had deposited on them, unlike any
thing else in nature. We perceive also the scents of

NOVEMBER. 271

withering maize, and other fading crops of the harvest,
which are wafted on the gales, as they traverse over the
fertile farms. It is difficult to describe a perfume; yet
every one who is familiar with nature, might easily, by
the fragrance of the atmosphere alone, determine the
month of the year. Though the sweetness of summer
is gone, there is a perfume on the breeze that tells of
the gathered harvest, and speaks of plenteousness for the
time to come.

A comparative silence now prevails in the woods, so
lately vocal with melody. The birds that long since
discontinued their songs, have forsaken our territories,
and are neither to be heard nor seen. ‘The grasshoppers
have hung their harps upon the brown sedges, and
they themselves are buried in a torpid sleep. The
butterflies also have perished with the flowers, and the
whole tribe of sportive insects, that enlivened the pros-
pect with their rapid motions, have gone from our sight.
Few sounds are heard on still days, save the dropping
of nuts, the rustling of leaves, and the careering of the
occasional fitful breezes that spring up amidst the gen-
eral calm. Beautiful sights and sounds have vanished
together, and the rambler who goes out to greet the
cheerful objects of nature, finds himself alone, com-
muning only with silence and decay. It is on the
pleasant days of November, that we most fully realize
how much of the pleasure of a rural excursion is de-
rived from the melodies, that greet our ears during the
vocal season of the year. Since the merrymaking
tenants of the grove have left them to silence and soli-
tude, nature seems divested of a portion of life and
personality. While apart from all sounds of rejoicing
and animation, we seem to be in the presence of friends,
who are silent with mourning over some dismal bereave-

272 STUDIES IN THE FIELD AND FOREST.

ments. In the vocal season, the merry voices of birds
and insects yield life to the inanimate objects around
us, and nature herself seems to be talking with us, in
our solitary but not lonely walk. But when these gay
and social creatures are absent, our once companionable
excursions are converted into actual solitude. No cheer-
ful voices are speaking to us; no bright flowers are
smiling upon us, and we feel like one who is left alone
in the world, to muse over the scenes of departed joys
and absent friends.

But the silence to which I have alluded is chiefly
that of the singing birds, whose voices are the natural
language of love and rejoicing. There are still many
sounds abroad which are characteristic of the season.
Hollow winds are sighing through the half leafless
wood, and the sharp rustling of the dry oak leaves is
heard aloft in the place of the warbling of birds and the
soft whispering of zephyrs. ‘The winds as they sweep
over the shrubbery produce a shrill sound, that chills us
in imagination, as the bleak foreboding of winter. The
passing breezes have lost that mellowness of tone that
comes from them in summer, while floating over the
tender herbs and flexible grain. Every sound they now
produce is sharper, whether they are rustling among the
dry cornfields, or whistling among the naked branches
of the trees. Since the forests have shed their leaves,
the voices of the remaining birds are heard with more
distinctness, and the woodland echoes are repeated,
with a greater number of reverberations, among the
rocks and hills.

Our rural festivities are passed, the harvest is gathered,
and all hands are busy in preparing for the comforts of
the winter fireside. ‘The days are shortened and the
sun at noonday looks down upon us with a slanting

NOVEMBER. 273

beam and diminished fervor, or remains behind the
misty veil that overshadows the earth. Dark clouds of
ominous forms and threatening look, brood sometimes
for whole days over the sullen atmosphere, through.
which the struggling beams of the sun will occasionally
peer, with a smile of complacency, that seems to bid us.
not wholly despair of his benignant presence. Every
object in the rural world tells of the coming of snows,
and of the rapid passing of the genial days of autumn.
The evergreens are the only lively objects that grace the:
landscape; and the flowers lie buried under the faded.
leaves of the lately beautiful forests, that now lift up:
their naked branches, as if in supplication to the skies.
The spirit of autumnal desolation sits upon the hills;
and in her baleful presence, the northern blasts assem-
ble upon the plains, and the wintry frosts gather together
in the once smiling valleys.

Such are the changes of the seasons; melancholy
emblems of the vicissitudes of life. Transient is the
petiod of youth, like the blooming month of May; and
rapidly, like the flowers of summer, fade all the joys of
early manhood. Our early hopes, after they have
finished their songs of promise, vanish like the warbling:
birds; and the visions of our youthful fancy, flit away
like the insects that glitter for a few brief days, and.
then perish for ever. Yet as the pleasant things of
one month are followed by those equally delightful in.
the next that arrives—so are the joys of youth that
perish, succeeded by the riper, though less exhilarating:
pleasures of manhood. These, in their turn, are lost,,
but to be replaced by the tranquil and sober comforts.
of age, as the autumnal harvest crowns the luxurious
enjoyments of summer. Joys are constantly alternat-
ing with sorrows; and the regrets we pour over our

274 STUDIES IN THE FIELD AND FOREST.

bereavements are softened and subdued by the new
bounties and blessings of the present season. While
we are lamenting the departure of one beautiful month,
another, no less delightful, has already arrived; and the
winters of our sorrow are always succeeded by vernal
periods of enjoyment.

Though we are accustomed to regret the lapse of
summer, and to dread the coming of winter, there is a
providential wisdom in these revolutions of the seasons;
and although our enjoyments are greater in the balmy
summer-time, than during any other period, yet their
average is greater than it would be if this delightful
season were to remain with us throughout the year.
There is an influence breathing from all nature in the
autumn that leads one to reflect on the charms of the
seasons that have flown, and prepares us by the regret
thus awakened to realize their full worth, and to
experience the greater rapture, when we meet them
once more. ‘

But to the man who contemplates the works of na-
ture with a philosophic eye, still more to the poet and
the moralist, do these changes and vicissitudes yield
sources of never-ending pleasure. They afford him
that tranquil and untiring amusement, which is derived
from watching the growth of the fields, through all its
gradations, from the seed to the flower, from the tender
bud to the leaf, and from the seedling to the perfect
plant. The budding of the trees, the gradual expan-
sion of their leaves, and all the changes through which
they pass, until their final decay, present unfailing
topics of curious and pleasing meditation. In every
change that happens, he discovers a new fund of reflec-
tions, on, the grandeur and harmony of nature’s works.
Even the melancholy which the man of feeling experi-

NOVEMBER. 275

ences in autumn, differs from despondency, and par-
takes of the character of positive pleasure. Notwith-
standing our lamentations over the departure of flowers
and the coming of snows, there would be a monotony
in a perpetual summer, which would soon be followed
by indifference; and then amidst all the beauties and
blessings of nature, our hearts would be cloyed with
luxurious enjoyments, and sighing after unattainable
happiness.

XXXV.

THE FALL OF THE LEAF.

Tue two most. interesting periods to one who is in
the habit of associating some agreeable sentiment with
the phases of nature, occur when the trees are putting
forth their tender leaves and flowers in the opening of
the year, and when they are assuming the variegated -
hues that precede the fall of the leaf. Hence the spring
and the autumn have always been regarded as pre-
eminently the two poetical seasons — the one emblem-
izing the period of youth, the other that of old age.
But to the eye of the painter as well as the poet do
these two seasons offer the greatest attractions. In the
spring, while the leaves are bursting from their hiberna-
cles, and unfolding their plaited forms, they exhibit a
great variety of tints, which are constantly changing
with the progress of their development. Jn autumn,
during a space of about two weeks, they pass through
another succession of hues; and this change, connected
with the fall of the leaf, has given rise to many pleas-
ing sentiments, which have been woven into the poetry
of all nations. It is a common fallacy to regard those
objects as the most picturesque which have the least
positive beauty; but landscape-painters, actuated by a

THE FALL OF TIE LEAF. QT

different opinion, have, for the purpose of adding a pic-
turesque charm to the scenes they portray, most fre-
quently chosen the autumn for their representations,
and given to their trees the beautiful tints of the declin-
ing year.

If we would learn the full comparative value of trees,
as ornamental objects, it is necessary to study them
under the different aspects they assume, during each of
the four seasons. They should be observed in May
and June, when they are putting forth their leaves and
blossoms; in July and August, when they have com-
pleted the growth and maturity of their foliage; in.
October, when they are hung with fruits, and are as-
suming the tints that precede their decay; and lastly,
in December and later, when they appear in their
denuded state, and have lost all their beauty, except
that of the forms and arrangements of their branches.
Under each of these aspects, they are a study which
cannot fail to reward the observer, by affording him
many new ideas, which will assist him in comprehend-.
ing the beauty and grandeur of vegetable forms and
colors.

The season of the fall of the leaf commences, in
general, about the twentieth of September, and varying
with the character of the weather, continues until near
the third week in November. It occupies a space of
about two months, and may be divided into three-
periods. The first includes the time between the
twentieth of September and the middle of the next
month, when the maple, the ash, the tupelo, the cree--
per, the hickory, the beech, and the chestnut are in,
their full splendor. During this period the yellow,.
orange, and scarlet hues predominate in the tints of the:
foliage. The second period occupies a space of about

24

278 STUDIES IN THE FIELD AND FOREST.

two weeks from the end of the first, when the oaks
have fully ripened their tints, and many of the trees
just named have become leafless. This period is re-
markable for a predominance of red, crimson, and pur-
ple hues in the color of the foliage; and it lasts until
about the seventh or tenth of November. The third
period commences with a succession of severe frosts,
that destroy all the remaining tints of the forest, and
change them into one uniform and monotonous brown.
This period may be said to terminate with the early
snows of winter, and is remarkable, in some years, for
a series of warm days which have been called the
Indian Summer.

All those who are accustomed to note the successive
changes in the face of nature, must have observed that
the different species of trees and shrubs lose their leaves
at different dates in the autumn, some being entirely
denuded, while others hardly exhibit any change in their
foliage. It may be further remarked that some species
preserve their verdure until their leaves drop to the
ground; among which we may class a great proportion
of exotic trees and shrubs. Others roll up their leaves
into a crisp before their fall, like the most of the her-
baceous plants, without materially changing their color
except by fading. ‘Such are the locust, and some of the
fruit-trees. The Jeaves of a third class, without wilt-
ing or withering, change from green to some brilliant
color, and make their beauty the harbinger of their
decay. The greater number of the trees and shrubs
belonging to the United States, are of this last descrip-
tion.

Those trees in general that exhibit the earliest and
brightest tints, are the first to lose their leaves, This is
observable especially in the maples, whose tints of yel-

THE FALL OF THE LEAF. 279

low, orange, red, crimson, and purple are conspicuous,
while the leaves of most other species are still green.
No sooner have other trees universally assumed
their autumnal hues, than the maples have mostly
become leafless. While the latter are still wearing their
gayest robes we may observe the hues of yellow,
orange, and brown of the common American elms.
The tints of the elm are neither so. brilliant nor so vari-
ous as those of the maple. They consist only of a few
shades of brown and yellow, which partake of the want
of brilliancy that characterizes the verdure of the same
tree. It is worthy of notice, that while these trees are
thus gleaming with gold, the English elm still retains
the greenness of its foliage almost as pure as in sum-
mer. The same difference may be observed between
the greater part of the indigenous trees of America,
and those of England and the continent of Europe.
“This habit of European trees has led many persons
to prefer them for ornamental purposes, to their kindred
American species. A few additional weeks of verdure
in the foliage of our trees, though it would not retard
the approaching cold, would be a prolongation of one
of the pleasant advantages of summer. But it ought
not to be overlooked, that if the American trees do not
continue in leaf so long as those of Europe, they
greatly exceed them in brilliancy and variety of their
autumnal hues. Should we, therefore, substitute foreign
trees with their prolonged verdure, for our indigenous
trees, with their early fading leaf, we should have
autumn without its presentcharms. Nature, in the fall,
would then resemble an old man without those silvery
hairs, which are the crowning ornament of his years.
Among our trees the maples exhibit the greatest
variety in their tints. Of different individuals of the

280 STUDIES IN THE FIELD AND FOREST.

same species, even when growing, side by side, in the
same situation, not unfrequently some will have foliage
of a bright yellow, others of vermilion, some of scarlet
and crimson, while others still retain their summer ver-
dure. In this respect the maples differ from other trees,
of which individuals of the same species seldom greatly
differ in their tints. Notwithstanding, therefore, the
rapidity with which they lose their foliage, these trees
are the principal charm of our woods, during the first
autumnal period. The ash succeeds the maple in the
ripeness of its hues and the fall of its leaves. The
American poplars jose their leaves about the same
time ; but their tints, though more brilliant than those
of the ash, are confined to the lighter shades of yellow.
The birch, the beech, the chestnut, and the hickory, all
of which are clad, with more or less brilliancy, in yel-
lows, succeed the poplar. Similar hues predominate in
the lime, the larch, the cherry, and the wych-hazel.

But there are several species in which the different
shades of red and purple prevail. Among these may
be named the swamp hornbeam, or tupelo, which is one
of the most brilliantly illuminated trees in our woods.
In the shade its leaves are of a bright orange; but
when exposed to the direct rays of the sun, they vary
from vermilion to scarlet, seldom, I believe, approach-
ing to purple. Like other brightly tinted foliage, that
of the hornbeam falls early in the season, seldom
remaining above a week in its full splendor. While
the yellow tints predominate in the trees, the reds and
crimsons predominate in the shrubbery. Conspicuous
among these are all the specics of the blueberry and
whortleberry tribe, that yicld a fairy-like splendor to our
wild upland pastures. Equally beautiful and more bril-
liant are the leaves of the common creeper, that often

THE FALL OF THE LEAF. 281

covers whole trees in our woods, mingling its pure scar-
let with the different colors of the tree that supports it.
The most of the sumachs exhibit a predominance of
purple in the hues of their foliage, mixed with their
original verdure. The viburnums and cornels are like-
wise variously shaded with purple and crimson.

The preceding remarks present an imperfect sketch
of the appearance of autumnal foliage, during the first
period of the fall of the‘leaf, when the yellow and scar-
let hues are the prevailing ones in our woodland scen-
ery. During the second period, very few of the yellows
are to be seen, if we except the yellowish green tints of
the different species of willow. The oaks are the glory
of the second period, and are remarkable for the long
duration of their beauty. Though their hues are neither
so brilliant nor so variegated as those of the maples,
yet they are at this time almost the only deciduous
trees, of indigenous growth, that remain in foliage.
Long after the remainder of the wood is leafless, except
the evergreens, the brown, gray, chocolate, crimson, and
purple tints of the different species of the oak lend a
charm to the forests which cannot be surpassed. The
foliage of the oaks during summer is not exceeded in its
finely indented forms, in the pure lustre of its surface,
in its firmness, without any deficiency of tremulous
motion, and may be said to combine a greater variety
of those qualities that affect the mind with agreeable
sensations, than that of any other tree. It is likewise
remarkably tenacious of its hold on the branches, where
it often remains until the opening of spring. Hence
the rustling of the dry oak leaf always pleasantly
reminds one of the appearances of nature, during her
season of rest, and of our winter walks in the forest.

Among the shrubs that retain their leaves during the

94 *

282 STUDIES IN THE FIELD AND FOREST.

second period, are the wild rose, the gooseberry, the
barberry, the sweet gale, and a few others. Of our
fruit-trees, the pear, which exhibits several tints varying
from yellow to red, intermixed with a larger proportion
of green leaves, loses its foliage, during the first period
of autumn, ten days or a fortnight before the apple-tree.
The great majority of fruit-trees retain their leaves till
near the middle of November, and exhibit only a slight
mixture of tints. In general, our orchards continue in
leaf to a later date than our forests. This difference
may be attributed to the foreign origin of our common
fruit-trees.

In the plains and lowlands, some of the most prom-
inent objects, during the second period, are the willows
of different species. ‘These trees preserve their leaves
and their verdure very late in the season, fading only to
a light yellowish green before they fall. The weeping-
willow, which was originally brought from the south of
Europe, retains the greenness of its foliage till the late
frosts of November destroys it. There is no tree in our
climate except the evergreens, that preserves its verdure
so many weeks, putting out its leaves very early in
spring and retaining them until all other trees are
denuded. This habit of the tree makes a pleasant com-
pensation for its almost entire want of those fine tinges
which are the glory of other trees that have a more
short-lived foliage. And when, amidst the general
nakedness of the groves, we behold the drooping
branches of the weeping-willow, waving majestically
in the wind, with its noble form and foliage still un-
changed by frost or by natural decay, it seems like
something protected by enchantment.

The continucd greenness of foreign trees, and their
habit of retaining their foliage to a later period than

THE FALL OF THE LEAF. 283

our indigenous species, is also remarkable in the Italian
poplar and the privet, whose leaves seem to be hardly
susceptible of injury from the frost. It might be in-
ferred that trees and shrubs which were brought from
climates warmer than our own would be more suscep-
tible of injury from our autumnal frosts. So far is this
from the fact, that their foliage is evidently more hardy
than that of our indigenous species. It may be ex-
plained by supposing that the leaves of a plant from
a more southern latitude, or‘ from a country, like Eng-
land, with a longer growing season, require a longer
time to arrive at maturity, and that their power of resist-
ing frost consists in their greater vitality. On the same
principle we may explain the fact very commonly
observed, that a second growth of leaves, sometimes
put forth after the first growth has been completed, has
a remarkable power of resisting the action of frost.
Whatever may be the explanation, it is true that the
early frosts of autumn, that cause the leaves of many
of our indigenous trees to drop to the ground, produce
no visible effect on some of the exotics; nor do the
intense rays of an American sun color them as they do
the leaves of our own trees.

The beautiful tints of autumnal foliage are not cor-
rectly attributed to the action of frost. Neither are
they the effect of the maturity, but rather of the old
age of the leaf; and they may often be observed as
early as August in those trees which are in a declining
state of health. While passing by the Salem common
during the second week in August, (1854,) I observed a
maple in its full autumnal drapery of crimson. On
examining it I found that the tree had been nearly
girdled. The wound had been healed, and left only a
narrow strip of bark, about three inches in width to

284 STUDIES IN THE FIELD AND FOREST.

sustain the whole plant. This might have been sufh-
cient for that purpose, during a moist summer; but on
account of the drought of the preceding July, it failed
to supply the tree with sustenance, and a premature old
age of the leaf and its accompanying tints were the
consequence. A.severe frost at that early date would
have produced no such effect. An early frost always
injures these tints by searing and imbrowning the
leaves which are exposed to it. This effect was noticed
in the autumn of 1853 when the leaves that ripened
later than usual, on account of long-continued rains in
the latter part of summer, were overtaken by two very
severe frosts, before they had begun to be tinted. In
October, the effects of these frosts were apparent in a
brownish tinge on the outer surface of the trees, greatly
impairing the lustre of their tints, which were not so
brilliant as usual.

The cause of the superior beauty of our autumnal
hues, compared with those of Europe, is undoubtedly
the greater intensity of the sun’s rays and the greater
proportion of clear and dry weather in America, caus-
ing the leaves to arrive sooner to’ maturity and old age.
As these influences do not act in the same way upon
European trees when introduced into this country, it
would be important to note whether American trees
preserve their peculiar habit when transplanted to
European soils. There is reason to believe that, while
these tints are attributable to the influence of our hot
summers and clear skies, the habit was acquired with
the origin of the species countless ages back, like the
black skin of the negro, and that it is now beyond any
such climatal influence. Though it might have owed
its origin to this peculiarity of our climate, the habit is
now one of the characteristics of the species. In all

THE FALL OF THE LEAF. 285

cases the leaf becomes tinted only when it has lost a
certain portion of its vitality, and just before it is ready
to fall from the tree.

The pines are not classed with deciduous trees ; yet
they shed their leaves in autumn as regularly as the
latter. Late in October you may observe the yellow
foliage which is ready to fall, surrounding the last year’s
growth of the branches, and exhibiting a curious inter-
mixture of yellow with the green growth of the last
summer. These leaves always turn yellow before they
fall; you never find the green leaves of a pine-tree, as
you do of many other trees, mixed with the other foli-
age upon the ground. The same fact may be noticed
of the oaks.

As late as the second week in November we can sel-
dom find one of our indigenous trees with any green
leaves upon it, unless it be a young tree, under the pro-
tection of woods. The third period has now com-
menced ; and the fall of the leaf is nearly completed.
The oaks, though not entirely stript of their leafy
honors, have lost the beauty of their hues, and bear
their heads less proudly among the leafless tenants of
the forest. The grass already exhibits a seared and
brown appearance, and is becoming tasteless to the
flocks. A few asters may still be seen, a golden-rod in
damp places, an occasional solitary coreopsis in the
meadows, or a blue-fringed gentian standing erect
among the brown herbage of the fields. But amid the
general desolate appearance of nature, the scarlet ber-
ries of the prinos are conspicuous among the wild
shrubbery; and the wych-hazel, clad in a full drapery
of yellow blossoms, stands ready with joyful hues to
welcome the Indian summer.

The Indian summer, which arrives during this third

286 STUDIES IN THE FIELD AND FOREST.

autumnal period, if it comes at all, is a brief period of
warm weather, that sometimes greets our climate in
November, after the fall of the leaf, and not as many
suppose in October. It is probably caused by the sud-
den check given to vegetable perspiration, by the fall of
the leaves. It is well known that by sprinkling a floor,
to cool a room in hot weather, we cause the heat to be
carried off with the evaporation of the water. On the
same principle, the infinite host of trees, whose leaves
are constantly evaporating the moisture of the earth,
must proportionally cool its surface, and the atmosphere
that is in contact with it. Any thing that increases
evaporation from the earth’s surface must cool it in the
same manner. Hence we may explain the greater cold-
ness of the air over valleys and wet places on summer
evenings, and the fact, often noticed, that a rainy spell
in autumn is commonly succeeded by severe frosts.
The greater burden of the foliage of our woods remains
on the trees and shrubs, until the severe frosts in the
latter part of October. About this time the whole
extent of our forests is often laid bare in the brief space
of a week or ten days. Not only does this great extent
of surface, thus laid open to the sun, receive from his
rays an increased amount of heat, but there is a vast
and sudden diminution, at the same time, of that evap-
oration which is caused by the leaves of plants. These
two circumstances unite in producing, when no out-
ward agencies interfere, a great accumulation of heat.
The warm spell that follows is the true Indian summer,
and may last from five to eight days. During one of
these spells of fine weather, I have sometimes heard the
crickets chirping merrily as late as the eighteenth of
November.

But our climate is exposed to such a variety of influ-

THE FALL OF THE LEAF. 287

ences, by our geographical position, that the kind
intentions of nature are, as it were, often defeated. In
the ordinary course of things, we should be favored
every year with this genial period of sunshine and
warmth. But the north winds will sometimes rush
down prematurely upon our territories, and bring winter
along before its time. Farewell, then, to the Indian
summer for that season. The tuneful insects, after
chirping incessantly during all the early autumn, are
obliged to sink into their winter sleep, without singing
the requiem of the year. Rustic toils and rural sports
are brought to a sudden termination, and the only
beings who seem to rejoice are the boys, who are de-
lighted with an early opportunity to renew the sports of
winter.

XXXVI.

THE INDIAN SUMMER.

TH’ autumnal hues have faded in the woods;

The birds have left their flowerless solitudes.

The leaves are falling fast, and from the sky,

The chilly breezes may be heard to sigh,

As often, in their now deserted bowers,

The north wind eddies o’er the graves of flowers.
Our rural haunts are desolate and drear,

And all the wild domain is brown and sere,

The many-tinted groves, the cool recess,

The summer shelter for our weariness,

Are opened rudely to the glare of day,

And wintry winds within their arbors play.

Some late-born asters linger on the plains,

That come not out till summer’s beauty wanes ;
And pale gerardias, in our woodland walk,

Are hardly faded on their wilted stalk ;

And gentians with their eyelids fringed with blue,
Still glitter in the morning’s frosty dew ; —

But few will trust their flowers, now summer’s past,
To wintry winds and rude November’s blast.

THE INDIAN SUMMER. 289

But though the flowers have faded on the hill,
Full many an object charms the senses still;
For even the dark brown naked woods are full
OF pleasant sounds and prospects never dull.
The woody glens are open to the sun,

Who lingers in the bowers he used to shun.
The leafy forest windows are unclosed;

The ferns that summer hid are now exposed.
The trailing evergreens and hair-like moss
Peep through the scattered leaves, with livelier gloss;
And many a curious relic, to reward

The rambler’s toil, is scattered o’er the sward.
When nature hides one page, her hands unfold
One no less bright, we could not else behold:
And as the months perform their annual round,
O’er beauty’s grave is new-born beauty found.

Oft in this month, with bright complacent smile,.
The sun dispels the frowning clouds awhile ;
Lifts up the misty curtain that conceals

The heavenly radiance summer’s sky reveals ;
Sheds softer azure on the calm blue sea,

And spreads a greener verdure on the lea.
Shortly before December rules the year,

Upon the wintry skies, new signs appear ;

A milder planet guides the hours of night,
And fairer day-beams harbinger the light.
Thus in an hour of sorrow, when opprest

By anxious cares that steal away our rest,
Will unexpected gleams of hope arise,

And chase the clouded prospect from our eyes.

The summer sun once more regains bis sway ;
O’er the brown landscape breathes a warmer ray ;

25

290 STUDIES IN THE FIELD AND FOREST.

Sheds o’cr the rising mist a roseate hue,

And bathes the cheeks of morn once more in dew ;
To prisoned zephyrs grants a short reprieve,

And binds fresh roses o’er the brows of eve:

Calls up the sweet south wind — the wind that bears
Aerial sweets a fairer clime prepares,

And sends it forth dispensing stores of balm,

Culled from the groves that bear the date and palm.
Then the soft breezes, stored with fresh perfumes,
Entice the bee to seek the faded blooms.

Insects awaking from their torpid state,

As with new life, are joyful and elate.

The crickets from their little burrows flee,

And strike their winged harps in all their wonted glee.
The summer flies once more are gambolling

Upon the waters, and the meadows ring

With tiny voices, as they gayly call

All nature to their joyous festival.

The sun shines out with dim but powerful blaze,
Iuming all the wide surrounding haze : —

The rising mist November's breath distils,

When warmer days have loosed the mountain rills.
The winds and waves are silent on the shore ;

The hoarfrost glitters in the ficlds no more;

The squirrel sits again upon her bongh ;

The swain has yoked his oxen to the plough.

The sparrow sings again his social song,

And calls out from the woods his feathered throng.
Whole flocks of birds emnerge from sheltered coves,
To greet the pleasant scencs of former loves,

The merry village children have come out,

And in the sunshine make a joyful rout.

The ducks are more loquacious in the pool,
Rejoicing in the season's gentler rule.

THE INDIAN SUMMER. 291

And such I deem a boon from nature’s hand,
To aid the weakness of her mortal, band.

Tis thus she grants to those who have delayed
Their later tasks, a seasonable aid,

To help the weak and backward to provide
Those comforts cheerless winter has denied.
Then do the little emmets rise to mend

Their injured hillocks ere the season’s end.

And man is not then idle; he derives

A blessing from this gift; spring toil revives;
The work of early seed-time is begun;

All his neglected harvest toil is done;

And the poor cottager, who gleans the earth,
To gather fuel for her lonely hearth,

Blesses the God and helper of the poor,

For this bright sunshine round her cottage door.
All creatures that are destined soon to die,
Again awake, and come abroad, and ply

Their various toils; make merry while they stay,
And live before their fate a pleasant holiday.

AAXYVII,

PICTURESQUE ANIMALS.

It may be observed that in pictures, when a certain
effect is required, an animal is often introduced whose
character and habits correspond with the scenery, or the
sentiment to be awakened. <A scene in nature, without
some such accompaniment, often fails in producing any
emotion in the mind. A heron standing on the borders
of a solitary mere, a kingfisher sitting on the leafless
branch of a tree that extends over the tide, a wood-
pecker climbing the denuded branch of an oak, yield to
the respective scenes in which they are represented, a
life and a character which could not be so well ex-
pressed without them. <A few cows grazing on a grassy
slope, a dog reposing at the door step of a cottage, or
a cat quietly slumbering inside of the window, are
each suggestive of pleasant images of rural life, and
add greatly to the interest of the scene. The majority
of animals require to be seen in connection with cer-
tain other objects to acquire a picturesque expression ;
but there are others which are endowed witb this
quality in a remarkable degree, and necd only to be
seen in any situation to awaken a certain agreeable train
of images.

PICTURESQUE ANIMALS. 293

Among birds the owl is often represented in engrav-
ings, when it is designed to impart to the scene a char-
acter of desolation. We often see this bird accompany-
ing a picture of ruins or of a deserted house, and in
poetry he is introduced to awaken certain peculiar
trains of thought. Thus the poet Gray, when he would
add a desolate expression to his description of evening,
speaks of the owl as complaining to the moon of such
as molest his ancient solitary reign. The allusion to
his nocturnal habits, and to his solitary dominions,
brings still more vividly to mind those qualities with
which the image of the bird is associated. His appro-
priate habitations are the ruined tower, the ancient
belfry, or the hollow of an old tree. Jn all such places,
the figure of the owl is deeply suggestive of those
fancies, which are awakened by the sight of ancient
dilapidated buildings, crumbling walls, and old houses
supposed to be the residence of wicked spirits which
are permitted to visit the earth.

It is on account of these dreary and poetic associa-
tions that the owl is so truly picturesque. He is often
seen, in paintings and engravings, perched on an old
gateway, or on one of the bars of an old fence, whose
posts, leaning obliquely, show that they have been
heaved by the frosts of many winters. In certain situ-
ations our slumbers are sometimes disturbed by the
peculiar hooting of this bird, that awakens in the mind
the gloomy horrors of midnight. His nocturnal and
solitary habits, the unearthly tones and modulation of
his voice, his practice of frequenting rude and desolate
places and haunted houses, have caused his image to
be intimately connected with mystery and gloomy fore-
bodings of evil. The very stillness of his flight yields
a sort of mysterious character to the bird ; all these cir-

26 *

294 STUDIES IN THE FIELD AND FOREST.

cumstances, combined with his fabled reputation for
wisdom, and his demure and solemn expression of
countenance, have conspired to render the owl one of
the most picturesque of all living creatures.

The bat is another creature, in some respects, of simi-
lar habits and reputation. Like the owl, it naturally
seeks, for its retreat during the day, those unfrequented
places where it is not liable to be disturbed, and has
acquired a character and expression in harmony with
the scenes it frequents. But it is remarkable that
while the ow] has obtained an emblematical character
for wisdom, the bat is regarded as the emblem of guilt.
He is represented as shunning the broad eye of day, and
as flying out on leathern wing, after the dusky shades
of evening may serve to hide him from detection.
The sight of the bat, however, is far from awakening
in our minds the idea of guilt; but his image is
strongly suggestive of the pleasant serenity of evening,
as the butterfly reminds us of summer fields and
flowers. Our ideas of the bat are somewhat grotesque;
and when, after the graceful swallow has retired to rest,
we observe his irregular and zigzag flight, we are una-
voidably reminded of his peculiar hideous formation,
from which the idea of making him an emblem of guilt
probably originated. It would seem as if he hid him-
self during the day, lest his relationship to a race of be-
ings now almost banished from the earth might be dis-
covered, His emblematical character does not prevent
his forming an interesting feature in a rural scene.
Hence in pictorial representations of evening, we see
the last rays of the sun streaming upward in beautiful
radiations from behind a hill, while the bat is flitting
about an old house, in a rude and rather quiet land-
scape.

PICTURESQUE ANIMALS. 295

All animals are picturesque which are consecrated to
poetry. In English descriptive poetry the lark is as
familiar to us as the rose that clambers around the
cottage door. The unrivalled brilliancy of his song
which, by description, is impressed on our minds with
a vividness almost like that of remembrance, and its
continuance after he has soared to an immense height
in the air, cause him to be allied in our minds with the
sublimity of heaven, as well as with the beauty and
splendor of morning. I never had an opportunity to
witness the flight of the skylark; but I have always
imagined that the sentiment of sublimity must greatly
enhance the pleasure with which we gaze upon his flight
and listen to his notes. The very minuteness of an
object soaring to such a sublime elevation gives us an
idea of some almost supernatural power, and his de-
lightful song would seem to be derived from heaven,
whither he takes his flight while giving utterance to it.
We have no skylarks in America; but our common
snipes, during the month of May, are addicted to this
habit of soaring, as I have remarked in another essay,
for a few hours after sunset. I have often watched
them in former times, and when witnessing their spiral
flight upwards to a great elevation, and listening to
their distinct but monotonous warbling after they have
arrived at the summit of their ascent, I have been con-
scious of an emotion of sublimity from a spectacle
which might be supposed too trivial to produce any
such effect. The picturesque character of the lark is
apparent only when he is represented in his soaring
flight. There is nothing peculiar in the appearance of
this bird as in that of the owl. The sight of him aloft
in the heavens is necessary, therefore, to suggest the

296 STUDIES IN THE FIELD AND FOREST.

idea of his habits and to make his true character
apparent to the mind.

Among the animals mentioned by certain writers as
possessing in an eminent degree those qualities which
appertain to the picturesque, is the ass. This point in
his character is attributed very erroneously to his shaggy
and uncouth appearance. It may assist in heightening
the expression of the animal; but there are various ro-
mantic and poetical ideas associated with his figure, to
which this quality is mainly attributable. If it were
owing to his rude and rough exterior, the baboon and
the hyena would be as picturesque as the ass. No such
ideas, however, are associated with these animals. The
ass derives much of this character from his connection
with the incidents of romance and history. He is the
beast of burden most frequently mentioned in the Old
Testament, in the Fables of AXsop, and in the writings
of oriental travellers. As Dugald Stewart has observed,
we associate him with the old patriarchs in their jour-
neys to new lands; and we have often seen him form-
ing an important figure in old paintings and engravings.
It is not his shaggy coat and uncouth appearance that
yield him his picturesque character, so much as the in-
teresting scenes and adventures with which his figure is
associated.

The same remarks may be applied with equal pro-
priety to the goat. He is the animal of mountain
scenery, and the sight of him suggests a variety of ro-
mantic incidents, connected with such landscape. He
is often represented as standing on precipitous heights,
and browsing upon dangerous declivities. He isin fact
one of the dumb heroes of dangerous adventure. With
the inhabitants of mountainous countries, as among
the Alps and the Highlands of Scotland, the goat is

PICTURESQUE ANIMALS. 297

the domesticated animal that supplies them with milk.
The hardiness and activity of the goat, his frequent in-
troduction into pictures of Alpine scenery, and his
habit of finding sustenance in wild regions and fast-
nesses where no other animal could live, combine to
render his image strongly suggestive of rusticity and
the simple habits of mountaineers.

It is common to regard the uncouthness of the ap-
pearance of these animals as the quality from which
they derive their picturesque expression. It is much
more probable that, on account of the absence of
beauty of color, smoothness, and symmetry, the imagi-
nation is left more entirely to the influence of the poetic
and traditional images connected with these animals.
In this way it may often be explained why rudeness is,
to a certain extent, a negative picturesque quality, be-
cause it leaves the imagination entirely to the sugges-
tions of the scene; whereas, if it were very beautiful,
the sight would be more agreeably occupied in survey-
ing its intrinsic beauties than in dwelling upon its
more poetical relations to certain other ideas and
objects.

Why is the horse not a picturesque animal, it may
be asked, but on account of the sleekness of his ap-
pearance? J am persuaded that his sleekness stands in
the way of this expression, for the reason that it causes
him to be associated with fashion and the pomp and
pride of wealth. Hence, it must be allowed that the
only horses that have this expression are shaggy ponies
and cart-horses. This proves only that their rough ex-
terior is {°e indication of the rusticity of their habits,
not that it is an intrinsic quality of the picturesque,
which has indeed no intrinsic qualities, like beauty, but
depends entirely on associations. Were the case re-

298 STUDIES IN THE FIELD AND FOREST.

versed, and were animals to become sleek when engaged
in rustic employments, and rough and hairy when fed
and combed and pampered by wealthy and lordly mas-
ters, in that case the sleekest animals would be the
most picturesque. The squirrel, which is a sleek and
graceful animal, is, in spite of these qualities, more
picturesque than the rough and rusty looking rat. In
this instance the usual principle is reversed, because the
smoothness and gracefulness of the squirrel are asso-
ciated with his interesting habits of playfulness and
agility, while running about from branch to branch
among his native groves. On the contrary, the smooth
and symmetrical horse cannot, by any pictorial accom-
paniments, be made so expressive as the rough and
homely ass.

I have just alluded to the squirrel as one of the most
picturesque of the smaller animals; but it is worthy of
notice that it must be represented in its native habitats
to express this character in full force. Though a squir-
rel in a cage is a beautiful object, especially when turn-
ing his revolving grate by the rapid motions of his feet,
yet a picture of one in that situation would have none
of that suggestiveness of poetical and agreeable fancies
that renders a scene picturesque. In a representation
of a little cottage in the woods nothing could add
mote to its pleasing pastoral expression than.the figure
of a squirrel running along on a stonewall or on the
branch of an old tree. The sight awakens all those
poetical images which are associated with life in the
fields. Place the squirrel in a cage and it reminds us
only of the town, and expresses nothing tha. is agree-
able to a poetic fancy. Every wild animal 1iust appear
to be enjoying its freedom, or the representation of it
would fail in giving any delight. The same is true of

PICTURESQUE ANIMALS. 299

the human race, and while the laboring classes add to
the pleasing character of a scene in nature, a single
figure, male or female, in fashionable apparel, destroys
the whole effect. Hence almost all the representations
of picnics fail in awakening any poetic emotions.

A shepherd, when properly represented with his crook,
which is his staff of office, and surrounded by the ani-
mals of his charge, his faithful dog, the rustic cottage,
the sheepfold, and the general rude scenery of nature,
is always picturesque. But his appearance must be
entirely that of a shepherd, without any of the ways or
the gear of a man of the town. I have seen a picture
of two young shepherds in the Ambruzzi mountains,
painted by an eminent English artist, in which the
characteristic qualities of the scene are entirely de-
stroyed by a certain genteel or finical air and expres-
sion observed in their countenance and attitudes. In-
stead of rustic shepherds we see two young men, each
with a crook, sitting and reclining upon a rock. They
are very neatly dressed, and look as if they were young
sprigs of the nobility, who had gone into the mountains,
for a few days, merely to play shepherd; so nicely is
their hair arranged, that the longitudinal parting is dis-
tinctly seen, caused by the sleeking away of the hair
on each side of the head. The expression of their faces
corresponds with the rest of their appearance; one, in
particular, having that look of conscious self-satisfac-
tion which we often observe in a silly fop of the town.
The very manner in which he leans his head upon his
thumb and fingers betrays his concern, lest he should
spoil the arrangement of his hair. How strange that
the painter of this piece should not have seen that all
these little trifles completely ruined the picturesque
character of his painting!

300 STUDIES IN THE FIELD AND FOREST.

One of the most interesting engravings I have seen,
represents a peasant girl, in the neat and simple attire
of her own humble station in life, in the act of bearing
a pitcher of water which she has just dipped from a
rustic well. How easily might the designer have ruined
the whole expression of this piece, either by making the
well an elegant and fanciful structure, or by making the
damsel a fine lady in her silks and laces. The sight of
a picnic party assembled together in the woods and
pastures, is always pleasing; but, as I have already in-
timated, it fails in interest when represented on canvas,
because, with all the pleasing images connected with it,
it savors of the vanity of fashionable or rather of town
life. After witnessing one of these scenes, while jour-
neying leisurely in a chaise on a pleasant day in Octo-
ber, I chanced to see a group of little country girls, in
the simplest apparel, gathering nuts under a tree.
What a crowd of pleasant recollections of the past
was immediately awakened by the sight! “ There (ex-
claimed my companion) is a scene for a painter. Such
a little group, in a picture, would afford us inexpressi-
ble delight. Yet were I to join either party, I should
prefer to be one of the other company at the picnic.”
“For the very plain reason,” I replied, “that in the
latter company you would expect to find some intelli-
gent persons who would be interesting companions.
But this is not what we look for in a picture, which
pleases in proportion to the simplicity of its charac-
ters.”

These remarks might be indefinitely extended; but
each new example would serve only to repeat the illus-
tration of the same principle. In no other engravings
do we see the picturesque more clearly exemplified than
in the vignettes which are found in books published»

PICTURESQUE ANIMALS. 301

early in the last century. Since luxury has extended
into the circle of the middle and industrious classes, the
simplicity of their habits has been destroyed, and artists,
when drawing their designs from the manners of these
classes, have failed in producing pictures equal in poetic
expression to those which were made one hundred years
ago. It is apparent, for example, that the ancient straw
beehive, surrounded by its swarm, formerly introduced
into vignettes as emblematical of industry, is decidedly
picturesque; while the modern patent structures, con-
structed for purposes of economy, would, in fanciful
engravings, excite ideas no more poetical than we
should find in a modern revolving churn. Modern cus-
toms and improvements are rapidly sweeping away
from the face of the earth every thing that is poetic or
picturesque. It may be urged, however, that the sum
of human happiness has been proportionally increased.
This I am inclined to doubt; and to maintain, on the
contrary, that just in proportion as we depart from the
simple habits of the early era of civilization, do we
create wants that cannot be gratified, and lose those
tastes which are most promotive of happiness, and in
harmony with the designs of nature and of providence.

26

XXXVUI.

DECEMBER.

Ir is one of the most cheerful employments for a
leisure hour, to go out into the fields, under a mild, open
sky, to study the various appearances of nature that
accompany the changes of the seasons, and to note
those phenomena which are peculiar to a climate of
frost and snow. The inhabitant of the tropics with his
perpetual summer, who sees no periodical changes
except the alternations of rain and drought, is deprived
of a happy advantage possessed by the inhabitant of
the north ; and with all the blessings of his voluptuous
climate, is visited by a smaller portion of the moral
enjoyments of life. In the minds of those who dwell
in a northern latitude, there are sentiments which are
probably never felt by the indolent dweller in the land
of the date and the palm; and however poetical to us
may seem the imagery drawn from the pictures we have
read of those blissful regions, ours is most truly the
region of poetry, and of all those sentiments which
poetry aims to express.

It will not be denied that in winter, nature has com-
paratively but few attractions ; that the woods and fields
offer but few temptations to ramble; and that these are

DECEMBER. 303

such as appeal to the imagination, rather than to the
senses, by furnishing matter for studious reflection, and
calling up pleasing and poetic images. The man of
phlegmatic mind sees, in all these phenomena, nothing
but dreariness and desolation; while to the studious or
the imaginative, every form of vegetation on the sur-
face of the earth becomes an instructive lesson, or
awakens a train of imagery that inspires him, on a win-
ter’s walk, with a buoyancy not often felt in the balmy
days of June. Then does he trace, with unalloyed
delight, every green leaf that seems budding out for
spring; and in the general stillness, every sound from
abroad has a gladness in its tone, not surpassed by the
melodies of a summer morning.

On these pleasant days of winter, which are of fre-
quent occurrence in our variable climate, I often indulge
myself in a solitary ramble, taking note of those forms
of vegetation that remain unchanged, and of the still
greater number that lie folded in hyemal sleep. For
such excursions the only proper time is when the earth
is free from snow, which, though a beautifier of the
prospect, conceals all minute objects that are strewed
upon the ground, or that are still feebly vegetating
under the protection of the woods. The most promi-
nent appearances are the remains of autumnal vegeta-
tion. The stalks of the faded asters are still erect, with
their downy heads shaking in the breeze, which has
already scattered their seeds upon the ground; and the
more conspicuous tufts of the golden-rods are seen in
nodding and irregular rows under the fences, or bending
over the ice that covers the meadows where they grew.
All these are but the faded garlands of nature, that
pleasantly remind us of the past festivities of summer,
of cheerful toil, or studious recreation.

304 STUDIES IN THE FIELD AND FOREST.

Nature never entirely conceals the beauties of the
field and wood save when, for their protection, she
covers them with snow. The faded remnants of last
summer’s vegetation may have but little positive beauty ;
but to the mind of the naturalist they are attractive on
account of the lessons they afford and the sentiments
they awaken. But there are objects in the wood which
are neither faded nor leafless; and many that are leaf-
less still retain their beauty and the appearance of life.
Besides the evergreens, many of the herbs that bear the
early spring flowers still retain their freshness, and
spread out their green leaves in the protected nook or
in the recesses of the fern-covered rocks. The leaves
of the wild strawberry and the cinquefoil are always
green in the meadows, and those of the violet on the
sheltered slope of the hill. The crowsfoot and the ge-
ranium are in many places as fresh as in May; and
the aquatic ranunculus and the wild-cresses are brightly
glowing with their emerald foliage, in the depths of the
crystal watercourses that remain unfrozen beneath the
wooded precipice, or in the mossy ravines of the forest.

These phenomena are doubly interesting as evidences
of the continued life of the beautiful things they rep-
rescut, and of the invisible and ever watchful provi-
dence of nature. Every step we take brings under our
revicw other similar curiosities of vegetable life, which,
by reason of their commonness, often escape our obser-
vation. On the sandy plain the slender birch-trees are
loaded with thousands of purple aments, suspended
from their flexile twigs, all ready to burst into bloom at
the very first breath of spring. In the wet lands, where
the surface is one continued sheet of ice, the crowded
aldcr-bushes are so full of these embryo blossoms, that
their branches seem to be hung with dark purple fruit;

DECEMBER. 305

and the sweet-fern of the upland pastures, in still mild
weather, often faintly perfumes the atmosphere, with
the scent of its half-developed leaves and flowers. —

But the face of nature, at this time, is not an unfruit-
ful subject for the poet or the painter. The evergreens,
if not more beautiful, are more conspicuous than at
any other season ; and there are many beautiful stream-
lets that ripple through the woods, and often in their
depths find protection from the greatest cold. Around
these streams the embroidering mosses are as green as
the grasses in May. The water-cresses may be seen
growing freshly at the bottom of their channels, and
the ferns are beautiful among the shelving rocks, through
which the waters make their gurgling tour. When the
sun, at noonday, penetrates into these green and shel-
tered recesses, before the snow has come upon the earth,
when the pines are waving overhead, the laurels clus-
tering with the undergrowth, and the dewberry (ever-
green blackberry) trailing at our feet, we can easily
imagine ourselves surrounded by the green luxuriance of
summer. Nature seems to have created these pleasant
evergreen retreats, that they might afford to her pious
votaries a shelter during their winter walks, and a pros-
pect to gladden their eyes, when they go out to admire
her works, and pay the homage of a humble heart to
the great architect of the universe.

Nor is the season without its harvest. The sweet
gale, or false myrtle, in dry places gleams with dense
clusters of greenish white berries, that almost conceal
the branches by their profusion ; the pale azure berries of
the juniper are sparkling brightly in the midst of their
sombre evergreen foliage ; and the winter-berry, or black
alder bushes, glowing with the brightest scarlet fruit,
and resembling at a distance pyramids of flame, are

26 *

306 STUDIES IN THE FIELD AND FOREST.

irregularly distributed over the wooded swamps. While
the barberries hang in wilted and blackened clusters
from their bushes in the uplands, the cranberries in the
peat meadows shine out like glistening rubies, from
their masses of delicate and tangled vinery. In the
open places of the woods, the earth is mantled with the
dark glossy green leaves of the’ gaultheria, half conceal-
ing its drooping crimson berries; and the mitchella of
a more curious habit, each berry being formed by, the
united germs of two flowers, (twins upon the same
stem,) adorns similar places with fairer foliage and
brighter fruit.

There is a sort of perpetual spring in these protected
arbors and recesses, where we may at all times behold
the springing herbs and sprouting shrubbery, when they
are not hidden under the snow-drift. The American hare
feeds upon the foliage of these tender herbs, when she
exposes herself at this season to the aim of the gunner.
She cannot so well provide for her winter wants as the
squitrel, whose food, contained in a husk or a nutshell,
may be abundantly hoarded in her subterranean gra-
naries. The hare in her garment of fur, protected from
the cold, feels no fear of the climate; and man is
almost the only enemy who threatens her, when she
comes out timidly to browse upon the scant leaves of
the white clover, or the heath-like foliage of the hyper-
icum.

But the charm of a winter's walk is derived chiefly
from the flowerless plants — the ferns and lichens of the
rocks, the mosses of the dells and meres, and the trail-
ing wintergreens of the shrubbery pastures. Many
species of these plants seem to revel in cold weather,
as if it were congenial to their health and wants. To
them has nature intrusted the care of dressing all her

DECEMBER. 307

barren places in verdure, and of preserving a grateful
remnant of summer beauty, in the dreary places of win-
ter’s abode. And it is not to be wondered, that, to the
fanciful minds of every nation, the woods have always
seemed to be peopled with fairy spirits, by whose
unseen hands the earth is garlanded with lovely wreaths
of verdure, at a time when not a flower is to be found
upon the hills or in the meadow.

Whether we are adapted to nature, or nature to us,
it is not to be denied, that on the face of the earth,
those appearances established by nature are more con-
genial to our feelings than others strictly artificial. The
lichen-covered rocks, that form so remarkable a feature
of the hills surrounding our coast, are far more pleasing
to every man’s sight than similar rocks without this
garniture. Ali this may be partly attributed to the
different associations connected with the two, in our
habitual trains of thought;— the one presenting to us
the evidence of antiquity, the other only the disagree-
able idea of that defacement, so generally attendant on
the progress of pioneer settlements. Hence the lichens
and mosses, upon the surface of the rocks, have an
expression which has always been eagerly copied by
the painter, and is associated with many romantic
images, like the clambering ivy upon the walls of an
ancient ruined tower.

At this season, when the greater part of the landscape
is either covered with snow, or with the seared and
brown herbage of winter, this vegetation of the rocks
has a singular interest. In summer, the rocks are bald
in their appearance, while all around them is fresh and
lively. In winter, on the other hand, they are covered
with a pale verdure, interspersed with many brilliant
colors, while the surrounding surface is a comparative

308 STUDIES IN THE FIELD AND FOREST.

blank. Some objects are intrinsically beautiful, others
are beautiful by suggestion, others again by contrast.
This latter principle causes many things to appear de-
lightful to the eye at one period, which at other times
would, by comparison with brighter objects, seem dull
and lifeless. Hence on a winter’s ramble, when there
is no snow upon the ground, our attention is fixed, not
only upon the lichens and evergreens, but likewise on
the bright purple glow that proceeds from every plat of
living shrubbery which is spread out in the wild. This
appearance is beautiful by contrast with the dull sombre
hues of the surrounding faded herbage, and it is like-
wise strongly suggestive of the life and vigor of nature.
It is the vivid hue of health, and entirely unlike the hue
of the same plants if they were dead or dying. It is
not necessary that we should have meditated upon this
idea, in order to be affected by it. We are all uncon-
scious physiognomists of the face of nature; and over
a wide tract of country, were the vegetation blasted in
autumn, by some secret pestilence that had destroyed
its vitality, its whole aspect would be such as to sadden
every beholder, though unaware of the fatal event. As
the human face in sleep wears the glow, if not the
animation of waking life—so the face of nature, in her
hyemal sleep, has a glow that harmonizes with our feel-
ings and with our sense of universal beauty.

The wild wood is always full of instruction for those
who are mindful cither of its general aspects or its
minuter details; and a ramble on a pleasant winter's
day produces on the mind an invigorating effect that
might be used as a safeguard against mental depres-
sion. The landscape, when undisfigured by art, is
never without beauty, and the woods are always redo-
lent of sweet odors that assist in perfecting the illusions

DECEMBER. 309

that arise from agreeable sights. While the exercise
thus partaken in the open air strengthens the body and
improves the health, the objects presented for our con-
templation are tonic and exhilarant in their action on
the mind. Whatever may be the season of the year, to
the student of science as well as to the lover of beauty,
something is always presented to fix his attention or
awaken his admiration, and he seldom returns from a
woodland ramble without increased cheerfulness and a
prospect of new sources of rational happiness.

XXNAIX.

OLD HOUSES AND THEIR INCLOSURES.

WHEN we are journeying in the country, we have all
occasionally felt that the sight of the finest houses and
the most highly ornamented grounds, does not always
affect the mind with the greatest pleasure. One is soon
tired of objects, however beautiful, that produce no
other effect than to excite an agreeable visual sensation.
Something that affords a pleasing exercise for the sym-
pathies and the imagination must be blended with all
scenes of beauty, or they soon become vapid and unin-
teresting. When one first enters the interior of a
spacious dome, which is surrounded with colored glass
windows, the physical sensation of beauty thus pro-
duced, may detain him a few moments, with extreme
pleasure. But a frequent repetition of these visits
would cause the spectacle to be extremely tiresome, be-
cause it excites the eye without affecting the mind.
The very opposite effect would be produced by visiting
a gallery of paintings, because there is no end to the
ideas and images which these works of genius may
suggest to the mind,

In like manner when travelling among the scenes of
nature and art, many a highly ornamented house passes

OLD HOUSES AND THEIR INCLOSURES. 311

before our eyes, without making any impression upon
the mind, that differs from those produced by examin-
ing the plates of fashions in the window of a tailor’s
shop. As we proceed further into the country we pves-
ently encounter a scene that awakens a different class.
of emotions, that seem to penetrate more deeply into.
the soul. An old house, containing two stories in front,
with the back roof extending almost to the ground, is.
seen half protected by the drooping branches of a ven-
erable elm. A Virginia creeper hangs in careless fes-
toons around the low windows, and a white rose-bush
grows luxuriantly over the plain board fence that in-
closes the garden. The house stands a few rods back
from the street, and is surrounded in front and on one
side by an extensive grass plat, neatly shorn by the
grazing animals, while sauntering on their return from
pasture. An old barn is near; and the flocks and the
poultry seem to enjoy an amount of comfort which we
might look for in vain, in the vicinity of a more ornate
dwelling-house.

There is an appearance of comfort and freedom about
this old house, that renders it a pleasing object to
almost every eye. No one can see it without calling to
mind the old-fashioned people whom we always sup-
pose to be its occupants. About it and around it we
see no evidences of that constraint to which the in-
dwellers and visitors of some more fashionable houses
must be doomed. The exterior is associated with its
interior arrangements, no less than with the scenes
around it. We see, in the mind’s eye, the wide entry
into which the front door opens, the broad and angular
staircase, the window in the upper entry, that looks out
upon a rustic landscape dotted with fruit-trees, and
patches of ploughed land alternating with green

312 STUDIES IN THE FIELD AND FOREST.

meadow. By the side of the staircase, on the lower
floor, stands an ancient clock, whose loud striking, and
slow stroke of the pendulum, are associated with the
old style of low-studded rooms. Perhaps by studying
the cause of the pleasant emotions with which we con-
template this old house, we may arrive at the knowl-
edge of a principle that may be turned to advantage,
in regulating our own and the public taste.

The charm of these old houses, which are marked by
neatness and plainnesx, and by an absence of all pre-
tension, is founded on the natural yearning of every
human soul after freedom and simplicity. In them we
behold the evidences of a mode of life, which, if we
could but rid our hearts of a little madness, we should
above all choose for ourselves. The human heart
naturally attaches itself to those scenes, in which it
would be free to indulge its own natural fancies. But
there is a habit stronger than nature, derived from our
perverted education, that causes us to choose a part
that will excite the envy of our neighbors, in preference
to one that would best promote our own happiness.
Hence a man chooses to be embarrassed with expenses
above his pecuniary condition, for the vain purpose of
exciting admiration, rather than to gratify his own
tastes, in the enjoyment of greater freedom and a more
humble and frugal mode of life.

In vain does the worshipper of fashion, by planting
an ornate dwelling-house in the heart of a forest, en-
deavor to add to it the charm of a rustic cottage in the
woods. The traveller, as he beholds its proud orna-
ments glittering through the trees, secs nothing of that
charming repose, which, like a halo of beauty, sur-
rounds the cottage of the rustic. He perceives in it
the expression of a striving after something that is in-

OLD HOUSES AND THEIR INCLOSURES. 313

compatible with its affectations. There may be a true
love of nature among the inmates of this house, who
would gladly divorce themselves from the frivolities of
high life. But they cannot consent wholly to relinquish
that bondage of fashion, which overpowers their love of
freedom and simplicity, as the appetite of the inebriate
causes him, in spite of his better resolutions, to turn
back to the cup that is destroying him. Nature may
harmonize with elegance, refinement, and grandeur; but
not with pretence. The rural deities will not make
their haunts near the abode of vanity; and the naiad,.
when she sees her rustic fountain destroyed, turns sor--
rowfully away from the spouting foam of a jet d’ eau.
There may be more true love of nature in the in-
mates of this ambitious dwelling, than in those of the
rustic cottage ; but the former gives no evidence of this
love, if it is built in a style that expresses that folly
which is continually drawing them away from nature
and happiness. Place them both in a picture, and the
fashionable house excites only the idea of coxcombry,
while the rustic cottage charms all hearts. Is it not
possible to borrow this indescribable charm, and add it
to our country residences? Not until the builder or
designer has become as one of these rustics in the sim-
plicity of his heart, and is content to forget the world
when he is planning for his retirement. Then might
the traveller pause to contemplate with delight, a house-
in which the absence of all affectation renders doubly
charming those rural accompaniments, in which the:
wealth of the owner, if he be wealthy, is detected only
by the simple magnificence of his grounds, and his.
taste displayed by the charm which art has added to.
nature, without degrading her*Fauns and her Hama-

dryads into mere deities of the boudoir.
27

314 STUDIES IN THE FIELD AND FOREST.

These old houses with a long back roof are not the
only picturesque houses among our ancient buildings;
but no other style seems to me so truly American,
Wherever we journey in New England, we find neat
little cottages of one story, some with a door in front
dividing the house into two equal parts, some with a
door at the side of the front, and a vestibule with a
door at the opposite end. It is common, when you
meet with one of these old cottages, in the less fre-
quented streets in the country, to see an elm standing
in front, shading a wide extent of lawn. Sometimes
there may be merely an apple-tree or pear-tree for pur-
poses of shade. A rose-bush under one of the windows,
bearing flowers of a deep crimson, and a lilac at the
corner of the garden near the house, are perhaps the
only shrubbery. These humble dwellings are the prin-
cipal attraction in some of our old winding roads, and
they are remembered in connection with many delight-
ful rural excursions. The rage that has possessed the
sons of the original occupants of these cottages for
putting up pasteboard imitations of something existing
partly in romance and partly in the imagination of the
designer, has destroyed the rurality of many of these
scenes in our old country villages.

Any marks of pretension, or of striving after some-
thing beyond the supposed circumstances of the occu-
pants of a house, are disagreeable to the spectator.
Could the sons of the old-fashioned people who occu-
pied these plain dwellings have labored to preserve the
simplicity and rustic expression of these, combined with
a purer style of architecture, the eflect would have been
exccedingly pleasing. They have done just the oppo-
site of this. They secm to have been ambitious to ex-
clude from their houses every thing that would be

OLD HOUSES AND TIIEIR INCLOSURES. 315

remotely suggestive of the simple habits of rural life,
and have endeavored to make them look as much as
possible, with one hundredth part of the cost, like the
villa of a nobleman. So many of these ambitious
cottages have been reared in many of our old streets,
as to have entirely destroyed that picturesque beauty
that made almost every route a pleasant landscape.
The street, once covered on all sides with those rural
scenes that charm every lover of the country, has be-
come as tame as one of those new-made streets, laid
out by speculators, to be sold in lots under the hammer
of the auctioneer.

The New England people have been repeatedly char-
acterized as wanting in taste; and this deficiency is
supposed to be exemplified in the entire absence of
ornamental work about our old houses and their inclos-
ures. Jt is a maxim that a person who is deficient in
taste always runs to an extreme in the use of ornaments,
whenever he attempts to use them. Hence the pro-
fusely decorated houses of the present generation do
not evince any positive improvement in taste, when
compared with those of their predecessors. They are
simply a proof that the people of the present time have
more ambition; but that want of taste, which a former
generation exhibited in their entire disregard of ornament,
is manifested in their successors, by their profuse and in-
discriminate use of it. That great progress has been
made throughout the land, will not be denied; but the
present state of public taste is perhaps a transition
state from an age of comparative rudeness to one of
perfected improvement.

The object of these remarks is not to deride wealth,
but to condemn the ostentation of wealth that does not
exist, instead of guiding oneself by a careful study of

316 STUDIES IN THE FIELD AND FOREST.

the rules of taste. An intelligent man of great pecu-
niary resources would reject these meretricious decora-
tions, as the mere sham substitute for something better
which he would adopt, because he could afford it. The
false taste which is censured is mere architectural hy-
pocrisy. My object is to analyze certain of our emo-
tions and sentiments, and to prove thereby that the
man who builds a showy house, not only offends against
good taste, but also essentially mars his own happiness.
Why do we contemplate with the purest delight a sim-
ple cottage in a half rude, half cultivated field, except
that it gives indications of something adapted to confer
happiness upon its inmates? The rustic well, with a
long pole fastened to a lever, by which the bucket is
raised; the neat stonewall or iron-gray fence that marks
the boundary of the yard; the old standard apple-trees
dotted about irregularly, all over the grounds; the
never-failing brook following its native circuitous course
through the meadow; all these objects present to the
eye a scene that is strongly suggestive of domestic
comfort and happiness.

Let us not, in our zeal for rearing something beauti-
ful, overlook the effect of these venerable relics of the
more simple mode of life that prevailed fifty years since.
Let us not mistake mere glitter for beauty, nor the
promptings of vanity for those of taste. Let us be-
ware, lest in our passion for improvement, without a
rational aim, we banish simplicity from the old farm,
and allow fashion to usurp the throne of nature in her
own groves. Far distant be the time when the less fa-
miliar birds of our forest are compelled to retire beyond
the confines of our villages, and when the red-thrush is
heard only in a few solitary places, mourning over that
barbarous art which has destroyed every green thicket

OLD HOUSES AND THEIR INCLOSURES. 317

of native shrubbery, where alone she makes her haunts.
This rage for foreign shrubbery is fatal to the birds,
each species of which is dependent on certain native
trees and shrubs, for subsistence and protection. By
eradicating every native coppice, and planting exotics
in their place, we may as effectually banish the thrushes,
and many other species of warblers, from our territories,
as by constantly shooting them.

Another style of old houses is the square house with
a hipped roof, usually of two stories. These are a
little more pretending than the others I have described,
and are more frequently seen with an ornamental fence
in front, after the present fashion. Hence they are less
attractive than some of the more primitive houses. A
more pleasing house is a nearly square building of one
story, with a curb roof, having the front door at the ex-
treme end of the front, and a vestibule on one side,
formed by extending the back half of the house a few
feet, with only half a roof, making the door in the vesti-
bule and the front door face the same way. Modern
improvers say there is no beauty in these old houses.
As well might they say there is no beauty in an old
tree, unless it is nicely trimmed and whitewashed.
More charming to the sight is a humble two-story house,
unadorned by a single artistical decoration, with a ven-
erable old tree in front and a wide extent of lawn, than
the most showy house in the modern filagree style, with
its narrow inclosures, its stiff spruces, and its orna-
mental fence that seems purposely designed to shut out
nature.

One principal charm of a cottage consists in the rural
appurtenances around it; and the less inexpressive
architectural ornament there is about it the greater is
this charm. It is true there is a style of building which

27 *

318 STUDIES IN THE FIELD AND FOREST.

is always pleasing to the eye, and another which is
either offensive or unattractive. A good style differs
from a bad style chiefly in suggesting, by its external
appearance, all those exterior and interior arrangements
which serve to make it a happy and comfortable resi-
dence. This is the principal beauty which is desirable
in a dwelling in order to produce the most charming
effect. There are certain ornaments the utility of which
is not apparent; but every thing added externally to a
house, in accordance with the rule of proportions, that
suggests to the mind an additional comfort or con-
‘venience, renders it more pleasing to the sight. Hence
a plain, square house, without a single projection, is
not so pleasant to look upon as another house, whose
wings and vestibules, under separate roofs, exhibit at
once to the mind, the conveniences within. A neatness
and elegance of finish would improve it still further;
but any inexpressive ornaments would spoil it. There
is a class of ornaments, however, which are beautiful
from suggesting something, independent of actual util-
ity, that is agreeable to the imagination.

I would venture to affirm that the more showy the
house, other things being equal, the less pleasure does
it confer upon its owner or occupant. A perpetual glitter
soon tires upon the eye and wearies the mind. There
is a want of what painters call repose in a house that
is excessively ornate; and the occupants of such a
house must feel less tranquil satisfaction in it than in
one of equal convenience, which is furnished only with
such ornaments as have been denominated chaste.
Chaste pleasures are those which are attended by no
disgust and bring no repentance ; and chaste ornaments
resemble them in this respect, by giving permanent sat-
isfaction, and by causing no fatigue to the eye or re-

OLD HOUSES AND THEIR INCLOSURES. 319

pentance to the mind. There is a stronger analogy
between these two things than any one who has not re-
flected upon the subject can be aware of. It is safe to
assert that any particular style of building and grounds,
which serves in the highest degree to promote the hap-
piness of the permanent occupants, will confer the most
enduring pleasure upon the beholder.

We frequently admire without one spark of affection,
and love with deep affection what we do not admire.
But more pleasure springs from love than from admira-
tion; and when people madly relinquish those humble
scenes and objects which they love, to obtain those
which shall glitter in the public eye, tickle their own
vanity and excite the envy of their neighbors, they
commit a greater error than the most bitter declaimer
against pride has generally imagined. I am far from
believing the paradox, maintained by Rousseau, that
man is more happy in a state of nature than in a civil-
ized state. This author, in his efforts to grasp at an
important truth, reached beyond it. That great truth I
believe to be this: — that the more we extend and cul-
tivate the moral and intellectual advantages and refine-
ments of civilization, while we tie ourselves down to
the simple habits of rustic life, the greater will be the
sum of our happiness.

XL.

THE FLIGHT OF THE WOOD-NYMPHS.

On the southern slope of a hill, nearly in the entrance
of a valley, stood a rustic cottage inhabited by a plain
industrious farmer and his family. The farm which
was connected with the cottage was a beautiful inter-
mixture of wood, tillage, and pasture ; and, imbosomed
in these natural groves, the glistening waters of a mini-
ature lake gave animation to the landscape, and became
a scene of rustic sport for many a youthful angler. In
front of the cottage was an irregular grassy slope, ex-
tending down to the road side, and wholly uninclosed.
Through this natural lawn a narrow footpath, leading
obliquely from the street to the door step, had been worn
by the feet of passengers ; tufts of wild shrubbery grew
here and there about the rocks that projected from the
surface of the soil, and the sweet fern diffused its odors
within a rood of the cottage windows. In the evening,
a small herd of cows might be seen quietly ruminating
under a rugged old: oak, that stood about thirty paces
from the house.

In the month of May this place was a favorite resort
for all the children of the village, on account of the

FLIGHT OF THE WOOD-NYMPUS. 321

multitude and variety of wild flowers that grew there,
and the many pleasant arbors afforded by the woods
that overshadowed the borders of the lake. On these
green hill-sides they might often be seen weaving chains
of the stems of the dandelion, or stringing white and
blue violets upon a thread, with which they made gar-
lands and necklaces to add to their own simple apparel.
Later in the season, old and young resorted hither, to
gather berries that grew abundantly in these grounds
and the neighboring pastures. Many a May-queen has
been crowned with the trailing evergreens that abounded
in these wild lands, and covered the meadows with ver-
dure in the depth of winter; and the children have
returned home with baskets full of checkerberries and
garlanded with early spring flowers.

There was something about the whole aspect of this
place that wag unaccountably delightful. Every one
who visited it felt inspired with a mysterious sense of
cheerfulness and pensive delight, that could hardly be
explained, as there were in the same village many mag-
nificent country-seats, with highly ornamented grounds,
that failed in awakening any such emotions. Here
nothing had ever been done to add a single ornament
to the face of nature, but in all parts of the landscape
there was a beauty that seemed unattainable by art. It
became evident, at last, that these groves and pastures
must be the residence of the rural deities, who, by their
invisible presence, inspired every heart with those de-
lightful sentiments, which, though not entirely unfelt on
earth, are well known only in Paradise. It was the
presence of these deities that yielded the place its mys-
terious charms. It was the naiad who gave romantic
melody to the fountain that bubbled up from the mossy
glen in the hill-side, and spread the hue of beauty over

322 STUDIES IN THE FIELD AND FOREST.

the solitary lake in the valley ; and the dryads, or wood-
nymphs, that caused these woodland arbors to rival the
green retreats of Elysium.

In these rural solitudes were assembled all those
little harmless animals, which by their motions and
frolics seem to give life to the inanimate scenes of
nature. Here were not only all the familiar birds that
delight in the company of man; butall the less familiar
birds, that love to chant their wild melodies in the hid-
ing-places of the solitary echoes, might also be heard in
the season of song. The red-winged starling, long
exiled from our villages, still uttered his melancholy
ditty among the willows in the valley, and weaved his
nest among the tall rushes that rose out of the water.
The ruff-necked grouse beat his muffled drum in the
adjoining forest, and the hermit thrush poured forth his
indescribable strains, like some voice that had wan-
dered from the groves of Idalia. Even in the depth of
winter, the hearts of the farmer and his family were
cheered by a multitude of merry voices, that seemed to
be peculiar to the place.

This charming spot soon became celebrated in all the
country around for its romantic beauties; and it was
eagerly coveted by many people of wealth who were
seeking a place of rural retirement. The cottager who
had lived here ever since his birth, regarded it with
affection and reverence, as his own paternal homestead.
But there are not many who can resist the temptation
of gold to make a sacrifice either of principle or affec-
tion, and the rustic possessor of this little farm was not
one of them. He sold it toa man of wealth and cul-
tivated taste, whose wife and daughters were unaffected
lovers of nature, and who were delighted with the idea
of occupying a place that was celebrated as the resort

FLIGHT OF THE WOOD-NYMPHS. 323

of the wood-nymphs and other deities of the groves.
The new proprietor determined to adorn and improve it
to the utmost extent. He resolved that the decorations
of the modern landscape art should be added to the
advantages it had derived from nature; the beauties of
other climes should be ingrafted upon it, and the whole
work should be crowned with the best efforts of the
sculptor and the architect.

Jn accordance with these plans, the work of beauti-
fying and improving the place was commenced. Stand-
ard English works on landscape gardening were con-
sulted ; the great Italian painters were studied for hints
which nature is supposed to communicate only through
their medium, and Brown and Repton guided the taste
of the improver in all his operations. The rustic cot-
tage was removed to a distant spot, and a splendid
Italian villa was erected in the place of it. No labor
nor money were spared in the effort to give it all the
external and internal finish which would be needful to
adorn a palace. Every piece of work was tasteful and
correct; no counterfeit imitations of valuable orna-
ments were allowed; and when the edifice was com-
pleted, the most scientific architect could find no fault
with it. It stood forth proudly on the brow of the hill,
one of the masterpieces of villa architecture.

The elegance of the mansion made it the more ap-
parent that the grounds must be improved, that the
appearance of nature might harmonize with the work
of the architect. On the grassy slope that fronted the
cottage, there were occasional projections of the rock
that was buried underneath the soil, and around these,
various species of wild shrubbery had come up in many
a tufted knoll. These prominences were split off, and
covered with loam, and the whole surface was graded

324 STUDIES IN THE FIELD AND FOREST.

into a beautifully even and rounded lawn. The wood
anemone, the mouse-ear, and the saxifrage no longer
spangled the grassy slope in early spring, nor the aster
nor the golden-rod stood there to welcome the arrival
of autumn. But tulips grew proudly in a fanciful bor-
der of spaded earth, under the side windows in the
opening of the year, and verbenas, portulaccas, and cal-
ceolarias outshone all the native summer beauties of the
landscape.

Surrounding the field that adjoined the cottage was
an old stonewall, gray with lichens and covered with
numerous wild vines that had clustered round it, as the
ivy intwines itself round the walls of ruined castles
and abbeys in the old world. The clematis over-
shadowed it with flowers and foliage in summer, and
with its beautiful silken down in the fall of the year;
and the celastrus grew with it side by side, offering its
honeyed flowers to the bee, and its scarlet, bitter-sweet
berries to the hand of the simpler, or to the famishing
winter birds. Among this vinery the summer warblers
built their nests; and numbers of them were revealed
to sight, when the foliage was swept away by the late
autumnal winds.

The ladies of the mansion would not readily consent
to the removal of this old stonewall, with its various
rustic appurtenances, which seemed to them a part of
the original charms of the place; but they were soon
convinced that the villa ought not to stand in the midst
of such shabby “surroundings.” They were plied with
arguments drawn from the works of men who had
studied nature in the galleries of art, and through the
medium of canvas, and were persuaded to believe that
the principles of English landscape gardening must
never be sacrificed to the crude notions of a poetic

FLIGHT OF THE WOOD-NYMPHS. 325

mind. The ladies gave up their impulses in favor of
the cold rules of professional taste. The stonewall was
removed; the wild rose and the eglantine were de-
stroyed ; the flowering shrubs that formed, on each side
of it, a glistening row of bloom and verdure, were
rooted up; a neat paling fence was erected as a tem-
porary boundary, and a hedge of buckthorn was planted
all around the old pasture!

The lawn in front of the mansion was inclosed by
an ornamental fence, and the narrow footpath that led
up to the rude door step of the cottage, meeting in its
course an occasional tuft of spireea and low laurel,
gave place to a neatly gravelled walk, four feet six
inches wide, and shaped into a graceful serpentine
curve. The inclosure was filled with exotic shrubbery ;
and silver maples, silver poplars, and silver firs stood at
proper distances, like sentinels to guard the portals of
this temple. The grounds were likewise embellished
with statuary, and large marble vases, holding some
flaunting exotic, stood in their assigned positions.

Two years had not elapsed before the design of the
improver was completed, and the whole aspect of the
place was changed, as if by enchantment. The rustic
cart paths that led over the hills, and through the woods
and valleys, were widened and covered with a neat
spread of gravel, and all their crooked outlines were
trimmed into a graceful shape. An air of neatness
was apparent in every direction. The undergrowth of
the wood was removed, certain misshapen trees were
cut down, and all rubbish was taken away that could
afford a harbor to noxious insects or mischievous quad-
rupeds. The lake that was embroidered with alders,
swamp roses, button bushes, the fragrant clethra and

the drooping andromeda, was improved by the removal
28

326 STUDIES IN THE FIELD AND FOREST.

of all these useless plants, and gravel and loam were
carted down to its edges, which were then covered with
soil and sowed with grass seed,'to afford a neat and
lawn-like appearance to the grounds, and to visitors a
firm foundation for their feet. The frequent tufts of
shrubbery that gave a ragged look to the pasture were
likewise removed, and the whole was planted with the
most approved grasses.

Not many rods from the cottage was a natural foun-
tain that bubbled up from a subterranean source on the
hill-side, from which the farmer irrigated the greater
part of his lands. It was a true rustic fountain, girded
on one side by steep fern-clad rocks, and overshadowed
by the gnarled and twisted branches of the aquatic
hornbeam, one of the most grotesque and beautiful
trees in the forest. From this fountain issued a rivulet,
which was conducted along the declivity, until it poured
its waters into a wooden trough, and formed a water-
ing place for the cattle. These objects were altogether
too rude to be admitted as a part of the map of im-
provements. The bed of the fountain was excavated
into a deep and spacious reservoir, and from this a pipe
was carried along underground to the front yard, where
it terminated in a jet d’ eau, that issued from a marble
basin, and threw up a wide and graceful spray.

The inmates of the villa were charmed with the
result of these operations. There was an air of ele-
gance and “high keeping” about the grounds, that cor-
responded judiciously with the splendor of the villa
and its outbuildings. No wild bushes were left in
straggling tufts, to suggest the idea of poverty or neg-
ligence on the part of the proprietor; and the pasture,
which was full of a great variety of wild plants or
weeds, was repeatedly ploughed and pulverized to destroy

FLIGHT OF THE WOOD-NYMPHS. 327

them, and afterwards “laid down” to legitimate Eng-
lish grasses. The dandelion and buttercups were no
more to be seen in the spring, or the rank hawkweed in
the autumn. Through this lawn neat gravel walks.
were made, that visitors might stroll there in the morn-
ing without getting wet by the dews. Many of. the-
slopes were provided with marble steps, and here and!
there, in the centre of a clump of firs, was erected a.
marble statue to emblemize some one of the rurali
deities.

But where stands the idol, there we may not feel the-
presence of the deity. In vain do we strive to com-
pensate nature, when we have despoiled her of her
original charms, by calling in the aid of the sculptor,.
whose lifeless productions serve only to chill the imagi-.
nation that might otherwise revel among the wizard
creations of poetry. The images of Ceres, of Galatea,.
or of the heavenly huntress, were not attractive to the:
beings whom they were intended to represent. The-
naiad no longer sat by her fountain, which was held in.
a marble basin, and sent up its luminous spray, in the:
midst of the costly works of art. The dryads had for--
saken the old wood, whose moss-grown trees were:
deprived of their variegated undergrowth, and of the:
native drapery that hung from their boughs. They
wept over the exiled bird and the perished flowers of
the wild wood, and fled sorrowfully to some new and!
distant haunts. The nymphs who used to frequent
these shady retreats had also fled. Woods, groves,,
hills, and valleys were all deserted ; and the cold, lifeless.
forms that were carved out of marble stood there alone,,
the mere symbols of charms that no longer existed.

The village children, who formerly assembled here to.
gather bouquets of wild roses, red summer lilies, andi

328 STUDIES IN THE FIELD AND FOREST.

the sweet scented pyrola, that grew up like a nun under
the shade of the deep woods, came often since the im-
provements, but searched in vain for their favorite
flowers. They no longer saw the squirrel upon the tree
or the nest of the sparrow upon the vine-clad walls.
The grounds, that seemed once to belong to them as
well as to their rustic proprietor, now exhibited some-
thing in their aspect that made them feel like intruders,
as soon as they set foot within their borders. These old
woods and pastures, now that they were metamorphosed
into park and lawn, had lost their charms for them, and
they turned away with sadness, when they thought of
those delightful arbors that would shelter them no more.

But the children were not the only sorrowers. The
ladies of the mansion were grieved when they found
that the rural deities had fled from the very objects
which were erected for their shrines. The cause of
their flight was a problem they could not explain.
Why would they no longer dwell in their ancient abodes
that seemed now so much worthier the residence of
beings of a superior nature? Could not the beautiful
green lawn that had taken the place of the weedy pas-
ture ; the commodious park which was once a tangled
wood; could not the charming flowers of all climes
which had been substituted for the inferior wild flowers ;
nor the marble fountain with its graceful spray, nor the
neat spread gravel walks induce them to remain?
More than all, could not the beautiful ‘statuary that
represented them in material shape, please them and
retain them in their ancient haunts ?

At length they began to suspect that there was a too
entire absence of rustic scenes and objects in their
present arrangements; and forthwith to appease the
deities, rustic arches and bowers, made of rude mate-

FLIGHT OF THE WOOD-NYMPHS. 329

rials, were erected and placed in different parts of the
grounds. A summer-house was built of the rudest of
logs, shingled with the rough bark of trees, and rocks
were introduced for seats and covered with mosses.
Fences were constructed in similar style, and various
other rude devices were executed and distributed in a
fanciful manner over the face of the landscape. But
not even the shaggy goat-footed Pan would acknowl-
edge any such thing for an altar. No such objects
could be made to accord with the “high keeping” of
the grounds, nor could they give an air of rusticity to
scenes that were so elaborately ornamented. They
were mere pieces of affectation; blotches upon the fair
surface of beauty, that served no other purpose but to
add deformity to the unique productions of art.

One day, as the ladies were strolling pensively along
their accustomed paths, lamenting that nothing could
be done to appease the divinities whom they had
offended, they discovered in a little nook, under a cliff
that projected over a rude entrance into the wood, a
slab of weather-stained slate, resembling a headstone.
Observing that it was lettered, they knelt down upon
the green turf and read the following

INSCRIPTION.

In peaceful solitudes and sylvan shades

That lure to meditation; where the birds

Sing all day unmolested in their haunts,

And the rude soil still bears the tender wilding —
There dwell the rural deities. They love

The moss-grown trees and rocks, the flowery knoll,
The tangled wild wood, and the bower of ferns.
They fill each scene with beauty, and they prompt
The echoes to repeat the low of herds

330

STUDIES IN THE FIELD AND FOREST.

And bleat of tender flocks. The voice of him
Who drives his team afield ; the joyous laugh

Of children, when, on pleasant days, they come

To take from gentle spring her gift of flowers,

Are music to their ears. All these they love ;

But shun the place where wealth and art have joined
To shut out nature from her own domains,

Or dress her in the flaunting robes of fashion.
Wouldst thou retain them ? — keep a humble heart,
Nor in their temples seek to show thy pride,

Or near their altars to parade thy wealth ;

Then may they come and dwell with thee, as once
With simple shepherdess and rural swain.

NE We Oe oes Vette?
" ; A f ww i PF (get ~,*.

ree ime me rs Fe ie

hie rete Poh # Demme

eee rer eng

Seat WTO A WNT Ws OE, as Moon yw Ww we sec
eee wee ak a NN hk Oe i add ww owe eA
wr ewe OW ee G.957 8.9,
~~ ye es we ow CAA AMAA UIT
ar ee SE ee a
A th ee ee NEM OO OED ES
NEN NN ee EE WOO MO OTE Wo IS, ©
WON NE Oe OS a A A
oO OY OO ah Ae ee dn ee
SE ES OE EMIS AAA DE
ak A i ed Wo et OD A
se We YO A On Ae ae eed
AAAS oY. : # ' ew LAE DAS
A AA Ae ee ee HW EM Ta Ae oa ee
wy Ley oe yg EO EE SAM MAA
AA es ee ‘3 ROTA A a a die ee Pa a i is Lie ee
5 ‘ ‘neg wl WN ot A INI AOD,

Bg WW WN ES I IO
SORE OS SOS CD OOOO DSO LOR OLED EA A
Ney RENE PE ED SEE EEO 9%,
a. A ida I LOA A OL ODL
Wow NET OO TS
LAMA AIDA ES,
VIA
SOt tos

Seb ye a el LA AD
i 3 ; F ; Cet UCT ef Le fs

=