JN VERSITY OF CA RIVERS DE. LIBRARY 
 
 3 121001851 6557
 
 LIBRARY 
 OF CALIFORNIA 
 
 RIVERSIDE
 
 iLrtij C 9
 
 STUDIES 
 
 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. 
 
 THE 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 he 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. INTRODUCTION .... 1 
 
 II. JANUARY ..... 8 
 
 III. A COLD DAY . . . . . 17 
 
 IV. SOUNDS FROM INANIMATE NATURE . 21 
 V. FEBRUARY , . . . .30 
 
 VI. KUINS . . . . . 38 
 
 VII. ROCKS ...... 45 
 
 VIII. OLD ROADS . . . . 52 
 
 IX. MARCH ...... 57 
 
 X. WEATHER SIGNS .... 65 
 
 XL COLORS AND FRAGRANCE OF FLOWERS . 75 
 
 XII. APRIL . . . . ' . 87 
 
 XIII. THE VERNAL FLOWERS . . . 96 
 
 XIV. PLEA FOR THE BIRDS . . . 106 
 XV. THE SINGING BIRDS AND THEIR SONGS . 113 
 
 XVI. MAY 123 
 
 XVII. WOOD SCENERY IN MAY . . .130 
 
 XVIII. ON MULTIPLYING THE BIRDS AROUND OUR 
 
 DWELLINGS 138
 
 vi CONTENTS. 
 
 XIX. JUNE .... .148 
 
 XX A SUMMER NIGHT IN THE WOODS 159 
 
 XXI. MORNING IN SUMMER . . . 167 
 
 XXII. JULY .... 174 
 
 XXIII. THE SEA-SHORE . . . .183 
 
 XXIV. AUGUST 190 
 
 XXV. THE THREE DEITIES . . . .200 
 
 XXVI. ANGLING . . . . 203 
 
 XXVII. THE FLOWERLESS PLANTS . . .210 
 
 XXVIII. SEPTEMBER .... 221 
 
 XXIX. Music OF INSECTS .... 228 
 
 XXX. THE FLOWERS OF AUTUMN . . 236 
 
 XXXI. OCTOBER . . . . .241 
 
 XXXII. CLOUDS ..... 249 
 
 XXXIII. WATER SCENERY . . . .260 
 
 XXXIV. NOVEMBER . . . . 267 
 XXXV. THE FALL OF THE LEAF . . .276 
 
 XXXVI. THE INDIAN SUMMER . . . 288 
 
 XXXVII. PICTURESQUE ANIMALS . . . 292 
 
 XXXVIII. DECEMBER . . . . . 302 
 
 XXXIX. OLD HOUSES AND THEIR INCLOSURES . 310 
 
 XL. FLIGHT OF THE WOOD-NYMPHS 320
 
 STUDIES IN THE FIELD AND FOREST.
 
 I. 
 
 v 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. All 
 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 man 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 FOKEST. 
 
 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 history 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 s 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 happier 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. O 
 
 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, w.hen 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 these, 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. 
 
 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. In 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 jn 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 
 differ 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 ; anp! 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 fheir force. Bat 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 STUDIES IN THE FIELD AND FOKEST. 
 
 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 v 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 winter, 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 1 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 
 
 a
 
 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 vacant 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 clao\ 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. 
 
 1 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. 
 
 ALL 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 the 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 
 2*
 
 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 
 anto 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- 
 ihouses. Every one is hurrying 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 
 ireply, in his haste to get to his journey's end. All are 
 Tapidly 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 
 ibright 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 
 ithese 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 crys 
 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 seen, the lamps twinkle 
 through the frostwork, and cast upon the traveller a 
 beautiful and variegated light.
 
 IV. 
 
 SOUNDS FROM INANIMATE NATURE. 
 
 NATURE 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 
 verberated 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 us a 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, it is 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, in a 
 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 tfae 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 almost 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 'NATUHE. 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.
 
 V. 
 
 FEBRUARY. 
 
 I AM no lover of cold weather ; and feel more con 
 tented, when the sultry heats of summer oblige me to 
 seek the refreshing 'Sea-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 halcyon 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 gladness 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. 
 
 I 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 to the 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
 
 FEBRUAKY. 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, 
 unless 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 wxmld 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 FOKEST. 
 
 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.
 
 VI. 
 
 KU INS 
 
 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 pne 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. 
 
 I 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 themselves 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. 
 
 In 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 
 pi imes 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. 
 On 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. I 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 rains 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. With a 
 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."
 
 vir. 
 
 ROCKS. 
 
 IT 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 objecls, 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 them 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 rudeness 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 flowerls and shrubs than a plain or 
 rolling country of similar soil and climate. 
 
 There are many plants whose native localities are the 
 top's 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 spira?a, 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-rnoss 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 natural 
 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-
 
 43 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 I believe the diffi 
 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 flower 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 increases those emotions, whether of beauty or 
 sublimity, which are excited by the prospect. 
 
 Any one who has rambled over the bald hills that 
 bound almost the whole northern shore of Massachu 
 setts Bay, can bear witness to the power of these land 
 scapes to magnify those sublime emotions 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. 51 
 
 ( 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. 
 
 It 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 ROAD S. 
 
 I CANNOT say that I am 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 populati'on. 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
 
 54 STUDIES IN THE FIELD AND FOREST. 
 
 iiearer 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 forming 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 
 ihighly 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 
 aiature 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- 
 tberry bushes, that grow in irregular rows and tufts 
 .along the rough and varied embankments. 
 
 Near -these old roads we 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. 55 
 
 closures ; and on one side of the house the garden is 
 seen with its unpretending neatness, its few morning- 
 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 behold 
 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
 
 56 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 
 neying, 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.
 
 IX. 
 
 MARCH. 
 
 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 in a 
 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 small 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 FOKEST. 
 
 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 
 
 6
 
 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 hills, 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 
 treas-ures 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 languishes 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. . It 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.
 
 MAKCH. 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 cm 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 FOKEST. 
 
 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.
 
 X. 
 
 WEATHER SIONS, 
 
 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 are 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 
 convey 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 bare-
 
 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 humble 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 oil 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 tfeen 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 condensation of moisture into a visible 
 shape by the cooling influence x>f 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, on 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 from 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 cdnditions 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 to 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 meet the storm, 
 and as the air becomes still more heavily loaded with 
 moisture, the clover and the wobd-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 earth arid 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 j 
 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 
 sules, 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 tha't 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 more 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. 
 
 I 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. 
 
 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 operatedVith 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 honey 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 cooperation 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 honey being 
 placed there, nature then forms the bee with instru 
 ments 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 monoecious and dioecious 
 flowers, it seems 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 cooperation 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 that 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 the 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, and 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 flowers 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, a*nd 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 ure 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 w r ith 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 
 ous 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. Their 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 proeumbent 
 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.
 
 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 moderate 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.
 
 XII. 
 
 APRIL. 
 
 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, 
 rather 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
 
 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 blojoming 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, 
 
 8*
 
 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 frolics. 
 
 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 
 trees 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 THE 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 dull 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 
 shelter, 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 re very, 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 rny 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 arid sat 
 isfied with the world.
 
 . XIII. 
 
 THE VERNAL FLOWERS. 
 
 IN 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 ccerulea. 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 corne 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. 
 
 In this phenomenon I think I 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 unaffected lovers of flowers, have 
 always shown a preference for those of early spring, 
 when they are more attractive on account of their 
 novelty, and seern 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, (epigaea repens,) dipping his hand into 
 clear streams for confervae 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 
 mow 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 
 mellifluous 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 
 cloud, 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 different 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 
 1o 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 
 buoyancy and hopefulness of our early years.
 
 XIV. 
 
 PLEA FOR THE BIRDS. 
 
 IN 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, he 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. 
 I 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 FOKEST. 
 
 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 east 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, arid 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, and 
 dislodge the larva? before they emerge into the open air- 
 Besides these birds that do their work by day, there are 
 others, like the whippoorwili 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 w r ould 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. Ill 
 
 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 and a 
 protector.
 
 XV. 
 
 THE SINGINQ 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 bough, 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- 
 pog-g-iaturas. 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 FOKEST. 
 
 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 
 row.
 
 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. 
 
 
 Mellowness 
 of Tone. 
 
 Sprightly 
 Notes. 
 
 Plaintive 
 
 Notes. 
 
 1 
 
 Execution. 
 
 Nightingale .... 
 
 19 
 
 14 
 
 19 
 
 19 
 
 19 
 
 Skylark ..... 
 
 4 
 
 19 
 
 4 
 
 18 
 
 18 
 
 Wood-lark ' . * i 
 
 18 
 
 4 
 
 17 
 
 12 
 
 8 
 
 Titlark . , / ,;. 
 
 12 
 
 12 
 
 12 
 
 12 
 
 12 
 
 Linnet ... . . . 
 
 12 
 
 16 
 
 12 
 
 16 
 
 18 
 
 Goldfinch . . 
 
 4 
 
 19 
 
 4 
 
 12 
 
 12 
 
 Chaffinch . ... 
 
 4 
 
 12 
 
 4 
 
 8 
 
 8 
 
 Greenfinch ..... 
 
 4 
 
 4 
 
 4 
 
 4 
 
 6 
 
 Hedge Sparrow 
 Aderdavine, or Siskin . 
 
 6 
 2 
 
 
 4 
 
 6 
 
 
 4 
 4 
 
 4 
 4 
 
 Red Poll 
 
 
 
 4 
 
 
 
 4 
 
 4 
 
 Thrush 
 
 4 
 
 4 
 
 4 
 
 4 
 
 4 
 
 Blackbird 
 
 4 
 
 4 
 
 
 
 2 
 
 2 
 
 Robin . . . . . |- 
 
 6 
 
 16 
 
 12 
 
 12 
 
 12 
 
 Wren ' *. . . V . 
 
 
 
 12 
 
 
 
 4 
 
 4 
 
 Red Sparrow . . . . . 
 
 
 
 4 
 
 
 
 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. 
 
 
 % i 
 
 S3 r 
 |fi 
 
 1 = 
 
 Sprightly 
 Notes. 
 
 Plaintive 
 
 Notes. 
 
 Compass. 
 
 Execution. 
 
 Mocking-Bird .... 
 
 18 
 
 12 
 
 4 
 
 19 
 
 12 
 
 Red Thrush 
 
 18 
 
 10 
 
 6 
 
 14 
 
 12 
 
 Wood- Thrush .... 
 
 19 
 
 4 
 
 19 
 
 4 
 
 4 
 
 Hermit Thrush .... 
 
 18 
 
 4 
 
 12 
 
 12 
 
 10 
 
 Cat-Bird 
 
 4 
 
 6 
 
 4 
 
 6 
 
 6 
 
 Robin 
 
 18 
 
 8 
 
 10 
 
 8 
 
 8 
 
 Song-Sparrow .... 
 
 9 
 
 10 
 
 8 
 
 16 
 
 16 
 
 Grass-Finch ..... 
 
 12 
 
 14 
 
 12 
 
 12 
 
 12 
 
 Field Sparrow .... 
 
 16 
 
 8 
 
 14 
 
 10 
 
 10 
 
 Hemp Bird ..... 
 
 6 
 
 6 
 
 4 
 
 6 
 
 6 
 
 American Linnet 
 
 12 
 
 12 
 
 8 
 
 8 
 
 12 
 
 Bobolink ..... 
 
 10 
 
 18 
 
 
 
 10 
 
 12 
 
 11
 
 122 
 
 STUDIES IN THE FIELD AND FOREST. 
 
 TABLE Continued. 
 
 
 Mellowness 
 of Tone. 
 
 Sprightly 
 Notes. 
 
 Plaintive 
 
 Notes. 
 
 a 
 3 
 
 Execution. 
 
 Wren ..... 
 Red-eyed Vireo .... 
 Common Vireo .... 
 Indigo Bird 
 Yellow Throat .... 
 Golden Oriole .... 
 Bluebird 
 Whippoorwill .... 
 Purple Martin .... 
 
 6 
 6 
 6 
 2 
 2 
 12 
 18 
 10 
 10 
 
 16 
 4 
 4 
 2 
 2 
 12 
 
 i 
 10 
 
 
 2 
 4 
 
 
 
 8 
 8 
 
 
 9 
 6 
 4 
 2 
 2 
 4 
 2 
 2 
 5 
 
 9 
 6 
 4 
 2 
 2 
 4 
 2 
 2 
 8
 
 XVI. 
 
 MAY 
 
 THE month of May is often personified as a beautiful 
 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 high 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. 
 
 It is the influence of this sentiment that renders a 
 young girl more lovely and interesting with her unfin 
 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 #vill 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. WJbile 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 resh 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 IX 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 senses 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 little 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.
 
 XVII. 
 
 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 leaves 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 our dwellings, have shed their 
 brown and purple blossoms ; and their light green 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 birchi 
 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 r 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 bios-
 
 FOREST SCENERY. 137 
 
 soms of the fruit-trees, while from the dark cypress 
 groves we hear the scream of the jay, the cawing 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*
 
 XVIII. 
 
 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 an 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 ABOUND 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. 143 
 
 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 desirable 
 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, spiraa, 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 occupy 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- 
 
 ia
 
 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 appliances 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-
 
 BIKDS 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 rnay 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.
 
 XIX. 
 
 JUNE. 
 
 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 tree's, 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 dried 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 brilliancy 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 at a 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 pther 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 c.ertain 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.
 
 XX. 
 
 A SUMMER NIGHT IN THE WOODS. 
 
 WHEN 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 cornes 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. 
 
 tirme 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 suffi 
 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 behold 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, though 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 beautiful 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 IX 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. 
 
 MORNINQ IN SUMMER. 
 
 NATURE, 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 iin 
 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 
 many 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 
 stxon 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 perehed 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 sufficien-t 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 THE 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 quest 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 his 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 conse- 
 crated hour, and to sanctify it to every one's memory. 
 I 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 color:?, 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 affec 
 tions. 
 
 15*
 
 XXII. 
 
 JULY. 
 
 THE 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 harrow 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 arid 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 now bountifully 
 provided for every sense. The trees that afford a pleas 
 ant shade, are surrounded with an undergrowth of fruit-
 
 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, 
 its 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 flowers 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 
 cheerful songsters, apparently devoted to the entertain 
 ment of others, they are metamorphosed into selfish
 
 ]7S STUDIES IN THE FIELD AND FOREST. 
 
 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 
 rising 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- 
 qtient 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. 18J. 
 
 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 !
 
 XXIII. 
 
 THE SEA-SHORE. 
 
 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 blende 
 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 sufferings 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 against 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. 
 AU a u ST. 
 
 THE 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 an 
 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 FOKEST. 
 
 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. Sometimes 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 network 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 seern 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. It 
 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 rural 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 
 general aspect of the season. At the present time, 
 mingled 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 atmosphere 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 FOKEST. 
 
 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. 
 
 In 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 different parts of the 
 woods, may be observed a sere and yellow leaf, like the 
 white hairs that are interspersed among the dark brown 
 tresses of manhood, and indicate the sure advance of 
 hoary years. The 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, arid 
 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 
 hyrnn 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 mart 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. In a 
 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.
 
 XXV. 
 
 THE THREE DEITIES. 
 
 THREE 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 Iris 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, w r ith 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 and 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 HAVE 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 as a 
 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. 
 
 I am not of that sect of the humane who would con 
 demn angling, on account of its cruelty. The pangs
 
 204 STUDIES IN THE 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 in a cage. 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 on a 
 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 r 
 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 FOKEST. 
 
 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 linnaea 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 for a 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, (Houstonia caerulea,) 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 
 lands, 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 FOKEST. 
 
 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 FLOWEKLESS 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 
 fung-ij 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, 1hey 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 
 Characeae 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 hdve 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, hardback, 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 rnind 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-
 
 SEPTEMBEK. 227 
 
 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. 
 
 ABOUT 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 bumblebee. 
 
 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 
 green 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 on a 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 
 I 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 Eflat, " " " 
 
 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 AUTUMN. 
 
 THE 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 
 culiar to warm climates. The roses and rosaceous 
 flowers usually appear in the early summer weeks, and 
 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. 
 It 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 hamainelis, 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. 
 
 O CTO BER. 
 
 THE 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 sleeping 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 early 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 pursue 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 variety 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 early 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 
 
 / O 
 
 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. 
 
 fill 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. 
 
 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 
 let 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, flutter 
 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. 
 
 THE 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 entering 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. 
 
 I 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 most 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 medium 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 suffi 
 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 an 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 or a 
 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 arid 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 sentinient 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.
 
 XXXIII. 
 
 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 obvious 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 or a stream. What 
 was before monotonous is now agreeably varied ; what 
 before was spiritless is now animated and cheering. A 
 similar 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 in a 
 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. The 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. 
 
 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 
 prinos 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 silence 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 
 pccasionally 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 
 period 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. 
 
 THE 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. In 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 THE LEAF. 277 
 
 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 N fading. Such are the locust, and some of the 
 fruit-trees. The leaves 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 present charms. 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
 
 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 lose 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 species of the blueberry and 
 whortleberry tribe, that yield 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 
 24*
 
 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 continued 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 suffi 
 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
 
 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 his sway ; 
 O'er the brown landscape breathes a warmer ray ;. 
 
 25
 
 290 STUDIES IN THE FIELD AND FOKEST. 
 
 Sheds o'er 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, 
 
 Illuming 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 fields no more ; 
 
 The squirrel sits again upon her bough ; 
 
 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 emerge from sheltered coves, 
 
 To greet the pleasant scenes 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.
 
 XXXVII. 
 
 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 with this 
 quality in a remarkable degree, and need 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. In 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- 
 
 25*
 
 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 owl 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 ^Esop, 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 is in 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
 
 PICTUKESQUE 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 ? I 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 t N 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 
 more 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 must 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
 
 XXXVI11. 
 
 DECEMBER. 
 
 IT 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 
 resent, and of the invisible and ever watchful provi 
 dence of nature. Every step we take brings under our 
 review other similar curiosities of vegetable life, which, 
 by rea'son 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 
 alder-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 
 squirrel, 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- 
 icurn. 
 
 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. All 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 either 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.
 
 XXXIX. 
 
 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 \vith 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 pres 
 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 plainness, 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 oue 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, sees 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 hajmts 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 effect would have been 
 exceedingly pleasing. They have done just the oppo 
 site of this. They seem to have been ambitious to ex 
 clude from their houses every thing that would be
 
 OLD HOUSES AND THEIR 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. It 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 arid 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 riot 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 ENCLOSURES. 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 FLIOHT 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-NYMPHS. 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 was 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 ; but all 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 to a 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. 
 
 In 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 epira?a 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 \vhole 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 
 w^eeds, 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 andi 
 there, in the centre of a clump of firs, was erected a 
 marble statue to emblemize some one of the rural! 
 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 andi 
 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, and;
 
 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.
 
 DATE DUE 
 
 GAYLORD 
 
 PRINTEDIN U.S.A.
 
 IVA 001