LLKfi 
 

 
THE 
 
 ANNALS OF MY VILLAGE 
 
 BEING 
 
 alentiar of Nature, 
 
 FOR 
 
 EVERY MONTH IN THE YEAR. 
 
 BY 
 
 THE AUTHOR OF SELECT FEMALE BIOGRAPHY, 3 
 "CONCHOLOGIST'S COMPANION," c. 
 
 "High woody hills, north, east, and west, 
 Look'd down upon its tranquil breast ; 
 A little hollow, green and bright, 
 With tufted shades, and dwellings white." 
 
 ELLEN FITZARTHUR. 
 
 LONDON : 
 
 J. HATCHARD AND SON, 187, PICCADILLY. 
 1831. 
 
LONDON : 
 
 IBOTSON AND PALMER, PRINTERS, SAVOY STREET, STRAND. 
 
ft 
 
 PREFACE. 
 
 THE following pages are a faithful transcript of 
 much personal observation ; they are presented 
 to the public with a sincere desire to interest the 
 dwellers among rural scenes in the birds, the 
 flowers, and other natural objects that surround 
 them, and in the changes of the seasons. 
 
 For the derivation of the names of different 
 plants and flowers, the author is indebted to the 
 last edition of " An Arrangement of British 
 Plants," by William Withering, Esq. LL.D. F.L.S.; 
 for some remarks on the squirrel, to Cuvier's 
 " Animal Kingdom ;" and for a few passing ob- 
 servations,* to Paley and Durham: these acknow- 
 ledgments, accompanied with a grateful sense of 
 
 * Vide page 3. 15. 37. 49. 112. 
 
 M3755SO 
 
IV PREFACE. 
 
 obligation, are due to those laborious and accom- 
 plished writers. To them, indeed, the author is 
 in a great measure indebted for an ardent love of 
 natural history, which has been fostered, among 
 the loveliest scenes, in the west of England. 
 
 Some years have passed in the collection and re- 
 vision of the facts now offered. Since their com- 
 mencement, different works on natural history have 
 appeared, but none to supersede a calendar of 
 every month in the year, with such anecdotes and 
 remarks, as a residence in the country has afforded 
 facilities for making. The author indulges an 
 humble, but gratifying confidence, that, inde- 
 pendently of the moral reflections, which the work 
 contains, it may be found to comprise much ori- 
 ginal matter, with popular descriptions of the 
 details of country life, and a variety of facts, that 
 will leave no season of the year without its own 
 peculiar sources of instruction and delight. 
 
JANUARY. 
 
 " Oh, Winter, ruler of th' inverted year, 
 
 Thy scatter'd hair with sleetlike ashes fill'd, 
 
 Thy breath congeal'd u]>on thy lips, thy cheeks 
 
 Fring'd by a beard made white with other snows 
 
 Than those of age, thy forehead wrapt in clouds, 
 
 A leafless branch thy sceptre, and thy throne 
 
 A sliding car, indebted to no wheels, 
 
 But urg'd by stormn along its slippery way ; 
 
 I love thee, all unlovely as thou seemst, 
 
 And dreaded as thou art !" TASK. 
 
 " THAT man," says the accomplished Cowper, 
 " who can derive no gratification from a view of 
 
% ANNALS OF MY VILLAGE. 
 
 nature, even under the disadvantage of her most or- 
 dinary dress, will have no eyes to admire her in any.'" 
 
 This thought arose within me during a late 
 walk in the neighbourhood of my village. 
 The morning was cold and clear, but the sun 
 shone bright, and not a cloud flitted across the 
 heavens. The little river flowed over its rocky 
 bed, and on either side, the spreading branches of 
 the oak, the elm, and birch, had intercepted the 
 flakes of snow, and formed a sparkling arcade. 
 Every twig glittered with hoar-frost ; even the 
 coarser herbage, ferns, reeds, and mosses, seemed 
 as if fledged with icy feathers; while here and 
 there the daphne-laurel and the holly firmly 
 grasped the rugged banks. Their dark shining 
 leaves were gemmed and edged with frozen parti- 
 cles, that reflected the colours of the rainbow ; 
 and across them, innumerable spiders, as if proud 
 to display their skill, had spun and interlaced 
 their glittering webs. 
 
 It is very amusing to watch a spider when thus 
 employed. He first throws out a thread, which 
 becomes attached by its adhesive quality to some 
 near bough, or leaf, tuft of moss, or stone. He 
 then turns round, recedes to a distance, attaches 
 another floating thread to some other part, and 
 darts away, doubling and redoubling, so as to 
 form figures the most pleasing and fantastic, spin- 
 
JANUARY. 
 
 ning a thread at every movement, through the 
 holes of his bag, by an operation similar, to the 
 drawing of wire. 
 
 " And thus he works, as if to mock at art, 
 And in defiance of her rival powers ; 
 By these fortuitous and random strokes 
 Performing such inimitable feats, 
 As she with all her rules can never reach." 
 
 TASK. 
 
 Yet the simple machinery, by which such a pro- 
 cess is effected, consists merely of two bags, or 
 reservoirs, filled with gum, or glue, and perforated 
 with small holes. The secretion of the threads is 
 an act too subtle for our discernment, except as 
 we perceive it by the produce. It may, however, 
 be observed, that one thing answers to another, 
 the secretory glands to the quality and consistence 
 required in the secreted substance, the bags to its 
 reception ; that the outlets and orifices are con- 
 structed not merely for relieving the reservoirs of 
 their burthen, but for manufacturing the contents 
 into a form and texture, of great external use to 
 the life and functions of the insect. Two pur- 
 poses are thus accomplished in the economy of 
 nature. A feeble creature, which it has pleased 
 Omnipotence to call into being, for reasons, though 
 inscrutable to us, yet undoubtedly both wise and 
 good, is put into a condition to provide for its own 
 safety. An exquisite effect is also produced in 
 
4 ANNALS OF MY VILLAGE. 
 
 the winter landscape an effect of a character so 
 new and beautiful, though annually recurring, that 
 few regard it without admiration and delight. 
 
 In passing down the lane, and through the fields, 
 it was instructive to observe how meek and pa- 
 tiently the sheep and cattle awaited their accus- 
 tomed provender, " not like hungering man, fret- 
 ful if unsupplied." They screened themselves 
 beside the loaded hedges, and looked wistfully 
 towards the gate. 
 
 " For frozen pastures every morn resound 
 With fair abundance thund'ring to the ground ; 
 Now, though on hoary twigs no buds peep out, 
 And e'en the hardy brambles cease to sprout, 
 Beneath dread Winter's level sheets of snow 
 The sweet nutricious turnip deigns to grow, 
 Till more imperious want and wide-spread dearth, 
 Bid labour claim her treasures from the earth. 
 On Giles, and such as Giles, the labour falls, 
 To strew the frequent load where hunger calls. 
 Snow clogs his feet, or if no snow is seen, 
 The field with all its juicy store to screen, 
 Deep goes the frost, till every root is found 
 A rolling mass of ice upon the ground. 
 No tender ewe can break her nightly fast, 
 Nor heifer strong begin the cold repast, 
 Till Giles with ponderous beetle foremost go 
 And scattering splinters fly at every blow ; 
 When pressing round him, eager for the prize, 
 From their mix'd breath warm exhalations rise." 
 
 BLOOMFIELD. 
 
 While standing to observe these patient crea- 
 tures, a granny wren, as the country people call 
 
JANUARY. 5 
 
 her, sung cheerfully among the underwood, and 
 her golden-crested relative, the most elegant of 
 British birds, peeped suspiciously from the spread- 
 ing branches of a silver fir, then flitted from spray 
 to spray, and shook a shower of tinkling ice-drops 
 on the withered leaves. Robin, too, who loves 
 mankind, alive or dead, was ready with his song, 
 and the cheerful voice of the woodlark resounded 
 from a wild acclivity shaded with high trees. 
 
 These are the only musicians that enliven Ja- 
 nuary with their songs. The other soft-billed 
 species, that continue stationary, are generally 
 silent ; but though silent, they perform important 
 services to the husbandman. Some examine the 
 young buds for such of the insect tribes as insi- 
 diously destroy them ; others employ themselves 
 in searching with a similar design the quarried 
 bark of aged trees, among the thatch of barns and 
 cottages, and in beds of moss. 
 
 As most of the soft-billed species subsist on in- 
 sects, they migrate at the end of summer, but the 
 following, though insectivorous, are seen around 
 the village during this severe month. 
 
 The redbreast and the wren are welcome at the 
 open door, where their light steps may be traced 
 on the snow: children throw them out crumbs, 
 and they collect flies and spiders from open barns 
 and outbuildings. They are held sacred by our 
 
ANNALS OF MY VILLAGE. 
 
 little peasantry : those who mercilessly destroy 
 the nests of every other species, respect the cradles 
 of these favourite birds ; and the child who dared 
 to injure them would be thought to give but a 
 bad presage of his future disposition. 
 
 I know not to what we may attribute this pecu- 
 liar kindliness of feeling, except to that exquisite 
 ballad, " The Babes in the Wood," with which 
 our village children are well acquainted ; a com- 
 position of the most beautiful and pathetic simpli- 
 city. Hard-hearted must the child be, who, when 
 he inclines to pillage a robin's nest, does not recall 
 to mind the dying parent, the innocent deserted 
 children, and how fondly the little red-breasted 
 birds covered them with leaves in the midst of 
 that wild wood, whither the faithless guardian 
 had cruelly conducted them. But why the same 
 kind feeling is evinced towards the grey-wren, 
 when the golden-crested is eagerly sought for, and 
 captured, I have never been able to ascertain. 
 
 The house-sparrow, (fringilla domestica,) a bold 
 pertinacious bird, though often chased away, as 
 frequently returns to share the feast. Why should 
 he not ? That he has neither a handsome coat, 
 nor a sweet song, is no just reason to deny him the 
 rites of hospitality, especially when he only craves 
 a few crumbs to save him from perishing. His 
 services are always ready if required, and were it 
 
JANUARY. 7 
 
 not for his active ministry, our early fruits would 
 often fail. 
 
 The winter fauvette, or hedge-sparrow, (mo- 
 tacilla modularis) is a general favourite in the 
 village. You may see him peeping from the 
 loaded hedges, and hear his cheerful twitter in 
 the coldest weather. In the homestead, too, and 
 orchard, he is equally at home, loving the vicinity 
 of man, and never deserting him. If the sun 
 breaks out, and a mild breeze begins to blow, he 
 is all life and animation; his wings quiver with 
 delight, and his sweet gentle song is heard 
 throughout the day. 
 
 Then he is the first to build a nest; and as if 
 trusting to the general favour that is shown him, 
 he often commits his little citadel to some leafless 
 hedge, where, sad to tell, the prying schoolboy as 
 frequently discovers it, bears off the nest in tri- 
 umph, and strings the blue eggs. 
 
 We have also mottled, yellow, and grey wag- 
 tails the motacilla alba.>flava, and boarula. They 
 frequent such shallow rivulets as are never frozen, 
 and feed on the aureliae that are concealed in the 
 damp herbage. The wheatear (sylvia cenanthe) 
 has been seen occasionally in a warm sheltered 
 coppice, eastward of the village ; whinchats (mota- 
 cilla rubetra) and stone-chatterers ( m. rubecola) 
 on a rocky declivity belted with high trees. 
 
8 ANNALS OF MY VILLAGE. 
 
 I have watched them when the snow has lien 
 thick upon the ground, hopping carelessly among 
 the stones on that wild common, and in the quar- 
 ries at its base. As they looked in good case, 
 aureliae, most probably, also furnished their table 
 in the wilderness. Here, too, is the golden- 
 
 crested wren, (motacilla regulus,) that fairy of a 
 bird, which braves our severest winters, and keeps 
 apart from tower and town. 
 
 This little bird seems hardly equal to the 
 shortest flights, and yet it passes over stormy 
 seas of at least fifty miles in breadth, from the 
 Orkney to the Shetland isles. When the young 
 are grown, and able to accompany their parents, 
 the whole family set out on their return. It is 
 beautiful to witness these rejoicing little groups 
 speeding to the parental strand, calm and unmoved 
 
JANUARY. y 
 
 above the dreadful thundering and recoiling of those 
 tremendous billows, from which even the hardiest 
 sailors turn with a feeling of instinctive dread. 
 
 But golden-crested wrens are not migratory 
 with us. During the winter, they frequent a tall 
 cypress, and build their nest in the shrubbery 
 about June, at which time I have seen them 
 hovering in the garden over an honeysuckle in full 
 bloom. 
 
 Different kinds of titmice are frequent in the 
 neighbourhood. If the weather is unusually 
 severe, the blue, the cole, great black-headed, and 
 marsh titmice approach our cottages, the former 
 (parus cceruleus) will glide into the butchers 1 shops 
 for bits of suet ; while others carry away barley 
 and oat-straws from the sides of ricks. 
 
 But their delicate long-tailed rejative,^ which is 
 nearly as minute and beautiful as the golden- 
 crested wren, remains in the woods and fields. 
 Though well acquainted with this beautiful little 
 bird, I have never seen her near the village, nor 
 will the most distressing seasons induce her to re- 
 linquish even in imagination that wild indepen- 
 dence which she loves so dearly. Poor helpless 
 little bird ! I have often thought, ' Where canst thou 
 find a table in all this dazzling waste of snow ? 
 how is the vital heat preserved in thy slender 
 
 * Parus Caudal us, Lin, 
 
10 ANNALS OF MY VILLAGE. 
 
 frame ? what coating defends thee from the bitter 
 wind and driving sleet, when I can scarcely stand 
 against them ?** 
 
 Most of the stationary birds are also common 
 to this neighbourhood ; and as the surface of the 
 country is finely broken into hill and dale, well 
 watered, with extensive commons and open beech- 
 woods, the large kite and sparrow-hawk, white 
 and common owls, goatsuckers, crows, rooks and 
 magpies, woodpeckers, kingfishers, nuthatches, 
 linnets, chaffinches, bulfinches, bramblings, yellow- 
 hammers, thrushes, throstles, blackbirds, and 
 buntings, find in each a haunt and shelter con- 
 genial to their respective inclinations. The coun- 
 try, too, is thickly inhabited, and hence the birds 
 are tamer, and their habits better known than in 
 wild lonely districts. 
 
 The pee- wit (fringilla vanellus) is also seen oc- 
 casionally near the village, and generally on 
 Vickeridge-hill, about three miles distant, where 
 its loud and incessant cries accord with the wild, 
 forest-like appearance of that favourite spot. It 
 is lively, active, almost continually in motion, 
 sporting in the " troublous air, 1 ' even during this 
 cold month, and assuming a variety of attitudes, 
 now rising to a considerable height, and now run- 
 ning along the ground, and springing nimbly from 
 one spot to another. But the grey plover, and 
 
JANUARY. 11 
 
 the cross-bill, or shell-apple (tringa squatarola 
 and loxia curmrostra) are two of our rarest birds. 
 The former is seldom seen at such a distance from 
 the coast ; the latter begins to build as early as 
 January. She places her nest under the leafless 
 branches of the pine, fixes it to the stem by means 
 of the resinous exudations of the tree, and plasters 
 it on the outside with the same substance, to ex- 
 clude the snow and rain. The bill is singularly 
 constructed : it is hooked upwards and down- 
 wards, and bent in opposite directions, for the 
 evident purpose of detaching the scales of the fir 
 cones, and obtaining the seeds that are lodged be- 
 neath them. The lower mandible serves for rais- 
 ing each scale, the upper for breaking it. This 
 singular construction offers a strong argument 
 that the Creator, in all his operations, works by 
 various means ; and that, although these are not 
 always clear to our limited understandings, the 
 good of his creatures is the one great end to 
 which they are directed. 
 
 Two kinds of gnat, the culices and the tipulida, 
 were sporting in the winter's sun, and a few moths 
 came out to bask on the leafless branches of a 
 
 
 
 spreading birch. This graceful tree stood forth in 
 all its majesty, on the summit of a rugged decli- 
 vity that rose from the water's edge. The scenery 
 around and beneath was indescribably pleasing and 
 
ANNALS OF MY VILLAGE. 
 
 fantastic; the trees that guarded the river on 
 either side, bent beneath a load of snow; the 
 banks appeared as if swept and garnished; and 
 what might seem the trees and shrubs of fairy 
 land, with rich tracery and snowy wreaths, appear- 
 ed in mingled beauty. 
 
 We admire a winter scene the clear calm ether 
 of the heavens, the ramifications of the leafless 
 branches, the hoary appearance of the forest. All 
 this is obvious. But, Reader, " hast thou en- 
 tered into the treasures of the snow, or hast thou 
 seen the treasures of the hail ?* Hast thou con- 
 sidered who it is, that saith unto the snow, ' Be 
 thou on the ground ;'f who causeth the south wind 
 to blow, and it melts away ?" It is the high and 
 lofty One ! How different are his works from 
 the most exquisite productions of imitative art ! 
 
 * Job xxxviii. 22. t Job xxxvii. 6. 
 
JANUARY. 13 
 
 Even the crystals that compose snow and hoar- 
 frost display that regularity, amid variety, which 
 is justly said to constitute the perfection of beauty. 
 Some resemble stars, others pyramids; others 
 again trees, herbs, and flowers; one presents the 
 semblance of a wheel, another imitates a triangle. 
 Chemistry unfolds their component parts, and the 
 naturalist may be tempted to pursue them till 
 they vanish from his sight. 
 
 Yet snow and frost-work are not merely pleas- 
 ing to the eye ; they perform an important office 
 in the great economy of nature. The first silently 
 descends upon the earth, and covers, as with a 
 mantle, the leafless branches, the tender herbs, the 
 stems and trunks of trees, such fallen seeds as are 
 designed to renew the honours of the forest, and 
 those perennials, that peep forth from the brown 
 earth. The frost, too, is useful in breaking the 
 hard clods into minute particles, and thus pre- 
 paring them for the reception and nourishment of 
 plants ; it also purifies the atmosphere and stag- 
 nant waters. 
 
 But though the stems and branches are un- 
 adorned with foliage, and the winter plants and 
 flowers are generally obscure, yet still they offer 
 much that is attractive to the naturalist. They 
 afford secure deposits for the eggs of insects ; for 
 nature keeps her butterflies, her moths, and cater- 
 
14 ANNALS OF MY VILLAGE. 
 
 pillars, locked up during the winter in their egg 
 state, and various and beautiful devices are re- 
 sorted to, in order to protect the nascent progeny. 
 
 of the Lacky Moth. 
 
 One insect enwraps her offspring in a silken 
 web ; a second glues them to the leaves, on which 
 they are deposited, that they may not be shaken 
 off by fierce winds, or washed away by rain ; a 
 third covers them with a coat of hair, taken from 
 her own soft body ; a fourth binds them together. 
 Some, again, envelop the dear egg in a soft sub- 
 stance, which also serves to nourish the coming 
 insect ; while others make incisions into the softest 
 leaves, and deposit an egg in each ; another, as 
 the lacky moth, places hers in a sort of spiral, 
 round the twig of a tree, and then attaches them 
 with a strong cement. 
 
 Each of these winged matrons is provided with 
 either glue, or awls, or needles, some appropriate 
 machinery, or art, with which to produce such de- 
 
JANUARY. 15 
 
 sirable effects. But the most obvious is that of 
 an awl, or borer, with which they pierce either 
 plants or woods, the skins of animals, even mor- 
 tar, lime, and stone, for the purpose of depositing 
 their eggs. This awl is a sharp-pointed instru- 
 ment, which the insect draws out at pleasure. A 
 sheath also opens, and divides, whenever the organ 
 is used ; this encloses a compact, grooved stem, 
 which affords a passage for the egg to its destined 
 lodgment, as soon as the penetration is effected. 
 This wimble, in the sestrus or gad-fly, draws out 
 like the pieces of a spy-glass, the terminating one 
 being armed with three hooks, of sufficient power 
 to bore through the hide of an ox. 
 
 Nor less extraordinary is the fact, that each de- 
 posits her egg on the branch or plant that of the 
 willow, for instance from which, not the parent 
 butterfly, but the caterpillar, that is to issue from 
 it, draws its nourishment. The butterfly does not 
 feed upon the willow, its thick ligneous leaves have 
 no delight for her, who loves to sport on burnished 
 wings from one flower to another. Yet to this 
 very plant she carefully confides her future off- 
 spring. But this predilection is not guided by ex- 
 perience. She has no mother to direct her choice, 
 no opportunity either for instruction or imitation. 
 Her nature is widely different from that assigned 
 to her 'offspring ; she cannot love a creature so 
 
16 ANNALS OF MY VILLAGE. 
 
 dissimilar ; nor can we conjecture for a moment, 
 that she possesses any consciousness that a period 
 must arrive, when this same creeping thing will 
 burst from her unsightly cerement, and sail on 
 gorgeous wings through the soft air. 
 
 The art, too, with which the caterpillar is coiled 
 up in the egg, presents a subject of great interest. 
 Furnished with all the members it ought to have, 
 and rolled together in a way that seems to contract 
 it into the least possible space, it has yet sufficient 
 room in its small apartment, and more than sufficient. 
 
 Such are the prodigies of nature; but fami- 
 liarity with the fact inclines us to slight the 
 cause. Inattentive man sees nothing to surprise 
 him in these extraordinary instincts in this ad- 
 mirable cradling of the insect world. 
 
 All that we behold is wonderful. Even at this 
 cold season, when maternal earth seems wrapt, as 
 in a winding sheet, yet still so calm, so beautiful, 
 that though life apparently is wanting, it does not 
 bear the sterner character of death ; the vital 
 fluid is only sleeping throughout the vegetable 
 world. A few short months, and the naked shoots 
 will be re-clothed with verdure; and flowers of 
 every scent and hue expand from the unsightly root, 
 the quarried bark, or frozen stem. This has been, 
 and the promise is on record that it shall be again.* 
 
 * Gen. viii. 22. 
 
JANUARY. 17 
 
 A naturalist is often pleasingly reminded of 
 this promise, when observing, on our southern 
 banks, the flowers of the red dead-nettle, " peep- 
 ing Nanny," or winter aconite, bearVfoot, ground- 
 sel, and chickweed, emerging through the snow; 
 while, above them, the pendant catkins of the 
 hazel are beginning to unfold, and the flowers of 
 the mezereon and snowdrop seem only waiting for 
 the cold east wind to pass away. 
 
 When the roads are passible, the farmer draws 
 manure upon his fields, lops and cuts his timber, 
 and mends the thorn hedges. If the frost is like- 
 ly to continue, he carries hay and corn to market, 
 or draws coals from the neighbouring town. The 
 thresher, also, is busy at his task. 
 
 " Thump after thump, resounds the constant flail, 
 That seems to swing uncertain, and yet falls 
 Full on the destin'd ear. Wide flies the chaff, 
 The rustling straw sends up a frequent mist 
 Of atoms, sparkling in the noon-day beam." 
 
 BLOOMFIELD. 
 
 During this sharp month, our sun-sets are some- 
 times very beautiful. Not with the gaudy gran- 
 deur of a summer's evening ; but a clear, cold 
 radiance, a brilliant glow towards the west, which 
 often imparts a corresponding colour to the snowy 
 landscape. This, as in the days of Virgil, indi- 
 cates continued frost ; so our country people 
 
18 ANNALS OF MY VILLAGE. 
 
 watch the setting sun, and accurately predict the 
 changes of the weather. If streaked with red, 
 they expect both wind and rain ; if long narrow 
 clouds are around, and across his disk, settled wet 
 weather; if his setting globe looks fiery, high 
 winds and sleety storms. From him, also, they 
 prognosticate whether a southern gale will bring 
 rain, or whether a clearing north wind will dis- 
 perse the clouds. 
 
 The universal stillness of a bright winter sun- 
 set, when not a wing is heard to flutter on the 
 leafless boughs, and all the little waterfalls are 
 frozen up, is often strikingly contrasted with the 
 sounds and bustle of the farmer's yard. 
 
 "Though night approaching hids for rest prepare, 
 Still the flail echoes through the frosty air ; 
 Nor stops till deepest shades of darkness come, 
 Sending at length the weary labourer home ; 
 From him, with bed, and nightly food, supplied 
 Throughout the yard, hous'd round on ev'ry side, 
 Deep plunging cows their rustling feast enjoy, 
 And snatch sweet mouthfuls from the passing boy, 
 Who moves unseen beneath his trailing load ; 
 Fills the tall racks, and leaves a scatter'd road ; 
 Where oft the swine, from ambush warm and dry, 
 Bolt out and scamper headlong to the sty, 
 When Giles, with well-known voice, already there, 
 Deigns them a portion of his evening care." 
 
 BLOOMFIELD. 
 
 But if the earth is wanting in beauty and luxu- 
 riance, the heavens magnificently declare the great- 
 
JANUARY. 19 
 
 ness of their Creator. Astronomers, who, with 
 the most skilful accuracy, have described the rela- 
 tive positions of these sparkling luminaries, divide 
 the starry heavens, by means of the meridian line, 
 into two equal parts. To the westward of this 
 imaginary line, and south of the ecliptic, the River 
 extends its winding course about ten at night; 
 and the Whale rises on its western extremity. On 
 the meridian, appears the brilliant Orion, and at 
 his foot the dim, twinkling constellation, Lepus. 
 At a small distance eastward, we discover Canis 
 Major, with the dazzling Sirius; Monoceros is 
 seen immediately above, and a little higher Canis 
 Minor and Procyon. The ship, Argo, appears 
 above the horizon ; and further to the east, Hydra 
 lifts up his head. The ecliptic is thickly studded 
 with the well-known constellations of Pisces, Aries, 
 Taurus, Gemini, Cancer, and Leo; the foot of 
 Auriga, bearing the brilliant star Capella on his 
 shoulder, touches the head of the Bull ; and with 
 the Camelopardus, the Pole-star, and the DragonV 
 head, divide the eastern and western constellations 
 on either side of the meridional line. To the east- 
 ward of this, above the ecliptic, appears the Lynx, 
 the little Lion, the great and lesser Bears, Bere- 
 nice^s hair, Charles-heart, and the head and shoul- 
 ders of Bootes, Asterion, and Chara ; to the west- 
 
20 ANNALS OF MY VILLAGE. 
 
 ward, Persius with Medusa's head, Cassiopoeia, An- 
 dromeda, Cepheus, the Swan and Lyre, the sweet 
 Pleiades, the Bee, and Triangle. 
 
 Those who are much abroad in these cold nights, 
 may see a little flitting object reflected on the daz- 
 zling surface of the snow. This is the common' 
 bat. Her congeners generally feed on the cre- 
 puscular moths ; but as they are now scarce, she 
 probably finds a quarry among different kinds of 
 insects, and such gnats as frequent aged trees and 
 walls, to which, in feeding, she adheres by the 
 claw appended to her long leathern wing. With- 
 out this contrivance, she would be the most help- 
 less of all animals. She could neither move ra- 
 pidly on a plane surface, nor raise herself readily 
 from the ground; but these inabilities are fully 
 made up to her by the formation of her wing ; and 
 in placing a claw on that part, the Creator has de- 
 viated from the analogy observed in flying ani- 
 mals. A singular defect required a singular sub- 
 stitution ; and hence appears that system, which 
 gives to the different parts of the organ of loco- 
 motion corresponding uses. 
 
 He who lifts his eyes to the high heavens, who 
 sees unnumbered constellations moving in silent 
 majesty, and believes them to be the suns of other 
 systems, may fear to be overlooked in the immen- 
 
JANUARY. 21 
 
 sity of creation. But let him examine the parti- 
 cles of frost that sparkle beside his path, or turn 
 his eyes to the little, dark flitting object that casts 
 a shadow on the dazzling surface, and observe the 
 expanded ear and nostril well adapted to catch the 
 slightest impulses of sound ; the warm soft fur 
 that defends his little body from the severity of 
 cold ; the claw appended to his wing, the won- 
 derful mechanism that diminishes his specific gra- 
 vity. Let him consider all these, and then take 
 notice how tender, and how intricate is the appro- 
 priate machinery, that gives animation to the 
 whole " how constantly in action, how necessary 
 to life." His fears must vanish. He will grate- 
 fully acknowledge the parental care of Him whom 
 greatness cannot overpower, nor minuteness perplex. 
 And, how beautiful, when the full-orbed moon 
 has risen over the snowy landscape, to watch the 
 rapid motion of the clouds !" 
 
 " To view the white-robed clouds in clusters driven, , 
 And all the glorious pageantry of heaven. 
 Low, on the utmost bound'ry of the sight, 
 The rising vapours catch the silver light ; 
 Thence Fancy measures, as they parting fly, 
 Which first will throw its shadows on the eye, 
 Passing the source of light and thence away, 
 Succeeded quick by brighter still than they. 
 For yet above these wafted clouds are seen 
 (In a remoter sky, still more serene,) 
 
ANNALS OF MY VFLLAGE. 
 
 Others detached, in ranges through the air, 
 Spotless as snow, and countless as they 're fair ; 
 Scatter'd immensely wide from east to west, 
 The beauteous semblance of a flock at rest. 
 These, to the raptur'd mind, aloud proclaim 
 Their mighty Shepherd's everlasting name !" 
 
 BLOOMFIELD. 
 
FEBRUARY. 
 
 "The Most High giveth snow like wool: he scattereth the 
 hoarfrost like ashes. 
 
 " He sendeth out his word, and melteth them ; he cause th his 
 wind to blow, and the waters flow." 
 
 PSALM cxlvii. 
 
 How delightful is that feeling which the lover of 
 nature now experiences, when the snows are melt- 
 ed from the fields, and a soft spring-like breeze is 
 felt, for the first time after cold east winds, and a 
 tedious confinement to the house ! The sun-beams, 
 too, that break through the driving clouds, and 
 brighten the landscape with a rapid radiance, are 
 welcomed perhaps with more delight than at any 
 other season of the year ; and even the mists that 
 rest upon the hills, or, as the country people call 
 them, the smoking of the woods, seem an earnest 
 of much that is verdurous and joyful. But many 
 cheerless days must elapse, before these promises 
 are realized : clouds will return surcharged with 
 rain, and rest with a settled gloom on the horizon ; 
 
ANNALS OF MY VILLAGE. 
 
 yet they are full of hope, for the heaviest showers 
 answer a double purpose in the great economy of 
 nature : they loosen the soil, and enable the roots 
 of plants to expand ; they also supply the fluid 
 that is received through the roots to the stem, 
 where it undergoes a chemical change, and is 
 brought back through another set of vessels down 
 the leaf stalks into the wood, depositing in its pro- 
 gress, either there, or in the bark and fruit, secre- 
 tions often diametrically opposite in their effects. 
 Thus, to the Bedford willow, a tanning principle 
 is communicated ; to the sweet-scented vernal grass 
 its fine aromatic fragrance ; and to the common 
 willow, that virtue which has been found so bene- 
 ficial in curing intermittent fevers. 
 
 " See that soft green willow springing, 
 
 Where the waters gently pass, 
 Every way her free arms flinging, 
 
 O'er the moist and reedy grass. 
 Long ere winter's blasts are fled, 
 See her tipt with vernal red, 
 And her kindly flower displayed, 
 Ere her leaf can cast a shade. 
 
 Though the rudest hand assail her, 
 
 Patiently she droops awhile ; 
 But when showers and breezes hail her, 
 
 Wears again her willing smile, 
 Thus we learn contentment's power, 
 From the slighted willow bower ; 
 Ready to give thanks and live, 
 On the least that Heaven may give." 
 
 CHRISTIAN YEAH. 
 
FEBRUARY. 25 
 
 We may further observe, in reference to this 
 month, that wherever marble, chalk, or limestone is 
 abundant in large masses, or diffused throughout 
 the soil, as sand or gravel, the thaws tend to dis- 
 integrate the more compact portions, and to set 
 free their carbonic acid. This, carried by heavy 
 rains around the roots of trees or plants, consti- 
 tutes a portion of their nutriment, or stimulates the 
 fibres to imbibe nutritious juices. 
 
 Earth-worms also perform an important office 
 during the present month, yet their activity is con- 
 tinually reprehended. " There is a worm, that 
 disagreeable creature, which spoils the grass and 
 walks ; kill, or throw it away," is a frequent excla- 
 mation ; and the poor creature is as frequently 
 crushed to death. But the objectors are not, per- 
 haps, aware, that the destruction of the species 
 would make a fearful chasm in the great chain of 
 nature. Though unsightly to the eye, apparently 
 small and despicable, their minuteness, numbers, 
 and fecundity, render them mighty in their effect : 
 they act in concert with the winds and rain, to 
 bore and perforate the soil. For this purpose, 
 they draw stalks and leaves, small twigs, and even 
 seeds, into the earth, and thus render it pervious 
 to the rain, and to the creeping roots of fibrous 
 plants : they also throw up a fine manure for grain 
 and grass. Without their useful ministry, mater- 
 
ANNALS OF MY VILLAGE. 
 
 nal earth would remain cold, hard bound, and con- 
 sequently sterile. Where, then, should we look 
 for fields of waving corn, and green meadows, the 
 support of men and cattle ? 
 
 A few early flowers are added to the calendar 
 of Flora, and accompany the rising of some pleas- 
 ing constellations. Virgo appears in the ecliptic ; 
 Arcturus and the Corona-septrionalis, the Dra- 
 gon's-head, and Lyre, become visible in the north- 
 east at ten at night. The snow-drop (galanthus* 
 nivalis) is now seen in sheltered places, the blos- 
 soms of the elder and the hazel begin to open, 
 and currant and gooseberry leaves expand. Who 
 does not love the snow-drop, that welcome little 
 flower, the first herald of the spring ? That fair 
 maid of February, which comes up with her peer- 
 less sisters in the most dreary of all months, often 
 too in the midst of sleety storms and driving gales, 
 to bid us be of good cheer, for that the spring is 
 surely on her way. I remember, when a child, 
 that as soon as the snow had melted in patches, 
 and the cold wind was a little still, I used to run 
 into the garden to see if the snow-drops were come 
 up ; and often, in our pleasant village, one neigh- 
 bour greets another with saying, " Winter will soon 
 be over I saw a snow-drop in the hedge to-day. 
 
 * From 70X0, milk, and avOos, a. flower, descriptive of its milky 
 whiteness. 
 
FEBRUARY. 27 
 
 The common daisy (bellis* perennis^), the "wee 
 modest crimson-tipped flower," the bonny gem, 
 which delights us in infancy and age, is also open- 
 ing to the sun. " Who can see or hear the name 
 of daisy, without a thousand pleasureable associa- 
 tions ?" " It is connected with the sports of child- 
 hood, and with the pleasures of youth. We walk 
 abroad to seek it ; yet it is the very emblem of 
 home. It is a favourite with every one : it is the 
 robin of flowers. Turn it all ways, and on every 
 side you will find new beauty. You are attracted 
 by the snowy white petals, contrasted by the gold- 
 en tuft of tubular florets in the centre, as it rears 
 its head above the green grass : pluck it, and you 
 will find it backed by a delicate star-like calyx, 
 tipped with a bright crimson." Such is its visible 
 beauty. What care, what skill, is further dis- 
 played in its construction ! The daisy not only 
 shuts its " pinky lashes" at night, but also care- 
 fully folds them over the yellow disk in rainy 
 weather ; nay, so universally and completely are 
 they closed, that acres which seem covered with a 
 white sheet during their expansion, are almost 
 momentarily restored to their pristine verdure by 
 the effect of a shower ; and how extraordinary is 
 the fact, that the faculty of thus defending the 
 
 * From bellus, pretty. 
 
 t Q. d. the eye of day, opening with the sun. 
 
28 ANNALS OF MY VILLAGE. 
 
 stamens and the anthers, is almost peculiar to such 
 plants as inhabit a humid and fickle climate ! 
 They are consequently protected from the effects 
 of inclement weather. 
 
 " Daisies, ye flowers of lowly birth, 
 Embroiderers of the carpet earth, 
 
 That stud the velvet sod ; 
 Open to spring's refreshing air, 
 In sweetest smiling bloom declare, 
 Your Maker and my God." 
 
 CLARE. 
 
 The appearing of this favourite flower accords 
 with the singing of certain birds, and the return 
 of others. Among the former we recognize with 
 pleasure the cheerful voices of the song-thrush, 
 hedge-sparrow, yellowhammer, chaffinch, and 
 blackbird ; they even sing when the frost is upon 
 the ground, and continue till the beginning of 
 October. 
 
 The missel bird and titmouse also warble very 
 early in the year ; the former is called in Hamp- 
 shire the storm cock, because his warning voice 
 forbodes wet or windy weather. They cheer the 
 welcome February with their songs, in company 
 with the great titmouse or ox-eye, which sings till 
 April, and again for a short time in September. 
 
 And, lo ! advancing from the cold and woodless 
 shores of Sweden, myriads of starlings (sturnus 
 vulgaris) are seen in the fens of Lincolnshire. 
 
 
FEBRUARY. 29 
 
 They roost among the reeds, and break them down 
 by their weight, while the fen-rnen endeavour to 
 chase them away with loud cries ; for the reeds 
 are used in thatching by the country people, and 
 are harvested with great care. Many of these 
 emigrants return about the eighth of May to Swe- 
 den, where their arrival is announced by the leaf- 
 ing of the osier, the elm, and bramble, by the 
 blossoming of the wood-sorrel, and the melting of 
 the snow even in the shade. Their relative, the 
 crescent-stare, or alauda magna of Linna3us, ar- 
 rives in New England early in the spring, and de- 
 parts in September or October. This species in- 
 habits Europe as high as Saltan in Norway, whence 
 they annually migrate at the beginning of winter, 
 with the exception of a few stragglers that con- 
 tinue on the rocky island near Stavenger, at the 
 southern extremity of the kingdom, where they 
 are seen coming out of their hiding-places, and 
 basking in the sun. They also abound in Russia, 
 Denmark, and Western Siberia, though rarely ob- 
 served beyond the lenesei. In some parts of 
 England they are perennial ; from others they mi- 
 grate by thousands. Myriads assemble on the 
 Orkneys, where they feed on the cancer pulex. 
 Two or three pairs occasionally visit us, for they 
 are rarely seen alone ; and rather than live with- 
 out society, they associate with the pigeon, rook, 
 
30 ANNALS OF MY VILLAGE. 
 
 or da\v. They build their nests in hollow trees or 
 walls, and lay four or five eggs of a pale greenish 
 colour. During the winter, they assemble in large 
 flocks upon the common, and whirl in playful cir- 
 cles, with a variety and intricacy in their evolu- 
 tions, of which no other species offer an exam- 
 ple. Their thirteen relatives are widely diffused 
 throughout the habitable globe. We may also 
 notice the pied wagtail (motacilla alba) as another 
 harbinger of the innumerable crowds that will 
 soon arrive from foreign parts. 
 
 The song-thrush, blackbird, and raven, now be- 
 gin to build their nests ; the two former select an 
 evergreen bush, or retired thicket, for the pur- 
 pose ; the latter, the waving branches of some 
 high tree, where he braves with his companion the 
 sleety storm, or rough east wind ; and while other 
 birds, benumbed and perishing with cold and hun- 
 ger, crowd around our doors, they are seen wheel- 
 ing their sportive flight amid the utmost rigours 
 of the season. 
 
 While pursuing our researches, it will be inter- 
 esting to compare the calendar of nature in this 
 immediate neighbourhood with that of Greece and 
 Sweden ; at least as far as the memoranda of 
 Theophrastus and Mai Berger enable us to trace 
 them. 
 
 In Greece, that land of stirring recollections, 
 
FEBRUARY. 31 
 
 where the garden and sepulchre mingle their bloom 
 and desolation, the swallow is already come ; and 
 now that young leaves begin to thicken the woods, 
 the nightingale warbles incessantly, the kite an- 
 nounces the time of sheep-shearing, and the lily 
 of the valley, narcissus, daffodil, cornflag, and 
 hyacinth, open to the sun. 
 
 " For there, the rose o'er crag and vale, 
 Sultana to the nightingale, 
 The maid for whom his melody, 
 His thousand songs are heard on high, 
 Blooms hlushing to her lover's tale ; 
 His queen, the garden queen, his rose, 
 Unbent by winds, unchill'd by snows, 
 Far from the winters of the west, 
 By every breeze and season blest, 
 Returns the sweets by nature given, 
 In softest incense back to heaven, 
 And grateful yields that smiling sky, 
 Her fairest hue and fragrant sigh." 
 
 BYROX. 
 
 In our own country, February is often a bitter 
 month ; though the peeping forth of her fair 
 maids, the return of certain birds of passage, a 
 milder air, and lengthened days, afford pleasing 
 indications of approaching spring ; but in Sweden 
 no movement is perceptible throughout the vege- 
 table kingdom : the weather is intensely cold, and 
 the nights, in allusion to their severity, are demo- 
 minated steel. Their " vegetable tactics," to bor- 
 row the observation of a distinguished naturalist, 
 
32 ANNALS OF MY VILLAGE. 
 
 seem confined to undeviating laws, and are thus 
 well defined by the admirable Bergen. 
 
 The reviving winter month, from the winter sol- 
 stice to the vernal equinox, begins on the xii. 
 of December, and continues to March xix. 
 
 The thawing month, from March xix. to April 
 
 XII. 
 
 The budding month, from April xii. to May 
 
 IX. 
 
 The leafing month, from May ix. to xxiv. 
 The flowering month, from May xxv. to June 
 xx. 
 
 The fruiting month, from June xx. to July xn> 
 The ripening month, from July xii. to August 
 
 IV. 
 
 The reaping month, from August iv. to xxvm. 
 
 The sowing month, from August xxvm. to 
 September xxn, 
 
 The shedding month, from September xxn. to 
 October xxvm. 
 
 The freezing month, from October xxvm. to 
 November v. 
 
 Dead winter month, from November v. to De- 
 cember XXII. 
 
 Mosses, at this season of the year, arrest the at- 
 tention of the botanist by their vividness and the 
 
 * Calendar of Flora. By Alexander Mai. Berger, Upsal, 1755. 
 Latitude 59. 51 . 
 
FEBRUARY. 33 
 
 extraordinary elegance of their construction. He 
 who passes through the leafless woods who sees 
 around him emblems of decay, is pleasingly re- 
 minded by their presence that the vital fluid is 
 suspended only for a season, and that, in a few 
 short months, the whole creation will be re-clothed 
 with beauty. They also protect the larger trees 
 from heat and cold, from drought and moisture. 
 
 There is also another and an important point of 
 view in which to regard these unassuming vegeta- 
 bles. When the crust of the great globe was 
 broken, lifted up, and overturned, at the epoch of 
 the deluge, large masses of bare projecting rocks 
 must have remained unclothed with verdure, while 
 the plains and valleys rapidly regained sufficient 
 herbage for the pasturage of cattle. But in the 
 course of years the rocks were also mantled with 
 underwood or large trees, as ancient primeval fo- 
 rests indicate. This was the result of means that 
 might appear, to a casual observer, very inade- 
 quate to the effect. 
 
 At first a few crustaceous lichens cover the 
 bare and rugged surface of a rock with multi- 
 farious tintings ; their decay and renovation gra- 
 dually deposit a small quantity of fine earth, on 
 which the tiled lichens fix themselves. These, in 
 their turn, become a thin and meagre soil, to 
 which the seeds of mosses are wafted by the 
 
 D 
 
34 ANNALS OF MY VILLAGE. 
 
 wind. A richer deposit of vegetable mould is 
 thus produced, and a pleasant green turf succeeds, 
 fit for the reception of small plants. Grasses and 
 flowers then begin to spring, and are succeeded 
 by shrubs and trees, till at length, after the lapse 
 of ages, extensive woodlands often clothe the 
 boldest and most precipitous descents. Thus 
 does the great Creator of the universe employ the 
 feeblest agents in producing the most beautiful 
 and picturesque effects. 
 
 This striking result is very obvious among the 
 mountain retreats of the Waldenses. How many 
 stirring recollections are associated with that 
 name ! Some of the most precipitous heights are 
 entirely covered with deep woods, and in winter, 
 when the rocks, by which they are skirted and 
 over-arched, and the vast convulsed face of the 
 country is white and still as death, the nerves of 
 that man must be strong and well strung, who can 
 pass beneath them ; their giant trunks and well- 
 knotted branches seem scarcely able to bear up 
 the weight of snow, that threatens every instant to 
 fall and crush the traveller, as he hastens beneath. 
 
 Dovedale offers, on the contrary, a pleasing in- 
 stance of the fine effect produced by progressive 
 vegetation. The summits and ledges of the rocks, 
 that throw their lengthened shadows over the rapid 
 flowing of the river, are covered with small oaks, 
 
FEBRUARY. DO 
 
 elms, birches, and flowering shrubs. Every space 
 between the water and the cliffs is deeply shaded 
 by rich and widely-spreading foliage, while, at 
 intervals, bright rills, when swelled by recent 
 rains, come leaping from their hiding places among 
 the rocks and shrubs, and mark their progress 
 with a still more vivid and luxuriant vegetation. 
 
 There we witness only the effect, for ages must 
 have passed since Dovedale was unclothed with 
 verdure ; but Tremadoc, in North Wales, affords a 
 striking instance of progressive vegetation, within 
 comparatively a recent period. 
 
 Scarcely twenty years have elapsed since many 
 hundred acres were gained from the sea by the 
 patriotic exertions of a public-spirited individual. 
 The traveller then saw around him only damp 
 rocks and headlands, sterile banks of earth, and 
 sea pebbles thrown beside the great road. In 
 the course of a few years, the headlands were 
 covered with coarse herbage, and small saplings 
 sprung from out the fissures ; while on either side 
 the road, and along the rocks, a rich drapery of 
 plants, wild flowers, birch, oak, and elm of con- 
 siderable growth and shade, pleasingly diversified 
 the scene. 
 
 Towards the latter end of February, if the 
 weather is mild and warm, myriads of happy 
 beings crowd upon our view. Swarms of new- 
 
 D 2 
 
DO ANNALS OF MY VILLAGE. 
 
 born insects are trying their pinions in the air. 
 Their sportive motions, their ceaseless mazes, their 
 continual activity, their change of place without 
 use or purpose, testify, as Paley beautifully ob- 
 serves, their joy and the exultation that they feel 
 in their newly-acquired abilities. The bright yel- 
 low blossoms of the willow are just beginning to 
 open, and around them troops of joyous bees are 
 seen pursuing their grateful toils as in the days of 
 Virgil. 
 
 " The quick -set sallows here 
 Are fraught with flowers suck'd by Hyblsean bees." 
 
 While thus employed they are some of the 
 most cheerful objects in nature. Their lives ap- 
 pear all enjoyment, so busy and so pleased; and 
 yet they are only a specimen of insect life, with 
 which, in consequence of their domestication, we are 
 better acquainted than with that of others.* Every 
 winged insect is perhaps equally intent upon its 
 proper employment, and under every variety of 
 constitution is equally gratified with the occupa- 
 tion which its kind Creator has assigned it. 
 
 But the atmosphere is not the only scene of 
 enjoyment to the winged race. Young tender 
 plants are now frequently covered with aphides, 
 that greedily suck their juices, and are constantly, 
 as it should seem, in the act of sucking. This is 
 
 * Natural theology, xiii. edit. 457. 
 
FEBRUARY. 37 
 
 doubtless a state of gratification. What else 
 should fix them to certain plants ? Other species 
 are running about with an alacrity that carries with 
 it every mark of pleasure ; but these are invariably 
 stationary. The Deity appoints them a subordinate 
 office, and he has mercifully blended with it so much 
 enjoyment, that one species never intrudes upon 
 the province of another. All this evinces the 
 goodness of the Creator, and that his creatures 
 are constructed with a benevolent design. " Let 
 every thing which hath breath praise him." " His 
 tender mercies are over all his works." The earth, 
 the air, the water, teem with delighted existence. 
 
 The mole, or mould-turner, (talpa europcea,) 
 too, looks forth from his cimmerian habitation. 
 It seems as if he loved to see around him the life 
 and business of husbandry ; the sowing of legumes, 
 and the trenching of vacant ground- -for his little 
 dome is never discovered in uncultivated countries. 
 He equally avoids the arid desert, and those boreal 
 regions, where the earth is frozen during half the 
 year. 
 
 Of all the commoners of nature, this creature 
 is perhaps the most advantageously gifted. With 
 the exception of sight, which is the weakest of 
 its senses, because it is the least necessary, his 
 other organs possess extraordinary sensibility. But 
 though his eyes are small, and his vision imperfect. 
 
38 ANNALS. OF MY VILLAGE. 
 
 maternal nature has bestowed on him, by way of 
 recompence, a placid contentedness of temper, 
 which, in the inferior as well as superior orders of 
 creation, may be justly denominated a continual 
 feast. He also enjoys a habit of repose and soli- 
 tude, the art of securing himself from injury and 
 disquietude, of instantaneously excavating an asy- 
 lum, and of finding a plentiful subsistence without 
 the necessity of going much abroad. His senses 
 of hearing and of smelling are acute ; his skin is 
 fine ; and he uniformly maintains his embonpoint . 
 Such are the characteristics of this laborious crea- 
 ture ; and, though cherished in obscurity, they are 
 preferable to more brilliant talents when incom- 
 patible with happiness. 
 
 The hedge-hog also (erinaceus europceus) peeps 
 forth from the warm hybernaculum of leaves and 
 moss, where he has lien concealed through the 
 winter. These harmless creatures are common to 
 the neighbourhood : they seek in gardens the plan- 
 tain root, which they bore out by means of their 
 long upper mandibles, while the tuft of leaves re- 
 mains untouched. For this reason intelligent gar- 
 deners protect them, notwithstanding the little 
 round hole with which they deface the grass 
 walks; but in general they are objects of unwar- 
 rantable dislike. Our gardener found one in the 
 autumn, warmly bedded in leaves, on a sloping 
 
FEBRUARY. OV 
 
 border inclining to the afternoon sun. He threw 
 it rudely out, and would have killed it, if I had 
 not interfered. It was a thief, he said, and lived 
 by milking the cows and goats. Poor harmless 
 creature ! what a stain has inattention to facts 
 cast upon thy character ! " Thou hast never rob- 
 bed man of any part of his property, nor deprived 
 the kid of one drop of milk. If thou wast so 
 ill inclined, thy mouth is too small for the pur- 
 pose ; and, wrapt as thou art in a prickly coat, 
 surely neither cow nor goat would allow thee to 
 approach them." 
 
 It is not easy to conjecture for what reason so 
 impenetrable a coat of mail has been conferred 
 upon this unoffending animal, whose silence, little- 
 ness, and obscurity, the fewness of whose wants, and 
 love of solitude, sufficiently conceal him from all 
 eyes, and shelter him from every enemy. One 
 might imagine, from the armour in which he is 
 beneficently wrapped, that he was destined to per- 
 form some important and necessary part in the 
 great economy of nature ; but his habits and his 
 instincts do not materially differ from those of his 
 brethren creatures dissimilar in their mode of 
 life, and inhabiting places very remote from each 
 other, uncased in armour, and unprovided with 
 any warlike weapon, yet living out the prescribed 
 period of their existence. 
 
40 ANNALS OF MY VILLAGE. 
 
 The majority of these also shun the light of 
 day, and conceal themselves in the recesses of ca- 
 verns, or in hollow echoing rocks. Nor is the 
 hedge-hog distinguished for more intelligence than 
 the rest; for in all, the power of perception 
 seems confined to the faculty of distinguishing, 
 among the few causes that are influential on their 
 being, the hurtful from the advantageous. Why 
 the hedge-hog, therefore, should be thus pecu- 
 liarly favoured, is a question we have no means of 
 solving. 
 
 His clumsy-looking form, short limbs, and plan- 
 tigrade motion, indicate that his agility is small, 
 his intelligence limited, and his life obscure. He, 
 poor feeble creature ! generally lies concealed 
 through the day. His humble dwelling is at the 
 foot of trees, in hollows left between them by the 
 roots, to which the moss forms a slight and second 
 covering ; or else among heaps of stones, and in 
 deserted rabbit-holes. In these retreats he passes 
 his peaceful days, and never sallies forth till the 
 shades of evening are around him. He then pro- 
 ceeds with a slow and measured pace in search of 
 food, which principally consists of snails, earth- 
 worms, and esculent fruit. Pallas notices as a re- 
 markable fact, that the common species, as well a$ 
 his long-eared brother, which is met with from 
 the north of the Caspian sea as far as Egypt, will 
 
FEBRUARY. 
 
 eat hundreds of cantharides with impunity, while 
 a single one occasions such horrible sufferings to 
 cats and dogs. 
 
 That propensity which Paley justly describes 
 as prior to experience, and independent of instruc- 
 tion, is beautifully manifested towards the latter 
 end of February, in the tender maternal care with 
 which the parent sheep selects a sheltered spot for 
 the accommodation of her young. The weak 
 bleatings of these helpless creatures are heard in 
 the hill country from sheltered brakes, or beside 
 the foot of some aged tree, whose ample trunk 
 and spreading branches afford a shelter in the 
 vicissitudes of weather. 
 
 The days now perceptibly lengthen, and the 
 temperature increases. The farmer repairs his 
 hedges, drains wet lands, plants beside his brooks 
 and streams the willow, alder, and all such trees 
 as delight in moisture, ploughs up his fallows, and 
 sows spring wheat and rye, beans and peas. 
 
 " Now mountain snows dissolve against the sun, 
 And streams, yet new, from precipices run ; 
 E'en in this early dawning of the year, 
 They bring the plough, and yoke the sturdy steer, 
 And whistling cheer him on beneath his toil, 
 Till the bright share is bury'd in the soil. 
 But ere they stir the yet unbroken ground, 
 The various course of seasons must be found ; 
 The weather, and the setting of the winds, 
 The culture suited to the several kinds 
 
ANNALS OF MY VILLAGE. 
 
 Of seeds and plants, and what will thrive and rise, 
 And what the genius of the soil denies. 
 This ground with Bacchus, that with Ceres suits, 
 The other loads the trees with happy fruits." 
 
 GEORGICS. 
 
 Reason and experience equally instruct the hus- 
 bandman to direct his operations by the changes 
 of the seasons ; but who first taught him to plough 
 all day, to sow, to open and break the clods ? 
 " When he hath made plain the face thereof, doth 
 he not cast abroad the fitches, and scatter the cum- 
 min, and cast in the principal wheat, and the ap- 
 pointed barley, and the rye, in their place ?" 
 
 " His God doth instruct him to discretion, and 
 doth teach him." * 
 
 How often has the thought of this kind warning 
 risen within me, while observing the labours of the 
 husbandman. How consoling has it been to think 
 that the high and lofty One, whose power is seen 
 in the fierce whirlwind, whose voice is heard in 
 the loud thunder, should thus direct the simple 
 occupations of rural life ! That he should se- 
 cretly incline the heart of man to devise such in- 
 struments and operations as diminish human la- 
 bour, or promote the growth of every herb bear- 
 ing seed, and every fruitful tree ; " that He should 
 water the ridges of the field abundantly, settle the 
 
 * Isaiah xxviii. 25, 26. 
 
FEBRUARY. 43 
 
 furrows thereof, and make them soft with showers, 
 till the year is crowned with his goodness ;"* and 
 all this perhaps for him, who, while he receives 
 the gift, is yet unmindful of the giver, whose heart 
 has never warmed with gratitude, whose lips have 
 never offered one tribute of thanksgiving. 
 
 * Psalm Ixv. 10, 11. 
 
ANNALS OF MY VILLAGE. 
 
 MARCH. 
 
 " Just to say the spring is come 
 
 The violet peeps from her woodland home." 
 
 CLARE. 
 
 THE rains of February have now performed their 
 assigned office, having caused the roots of peren- 
 nial plants to send forth shoots, and such seeds to 
 germinate, as were scattered on the earth. High 
 winds frequently prevail, and these also are essen- 
 tial to the general welfare. They drive off the 
 clouds that are borne, surcharged with rain, over 
 the Atlantic, and disperse the insect armies that 
 would insidiously destroy the opening buds. They 
 dry the soaked earth, prevent the seeds from de- 
 caying, or becoming mouldy, and promote the 
 rising of the sap by violently agitating the trees 
 and shrubs. Hence the proverbial saying, that a 
 bushel of March dust is worth a king's ransom : 
 for should the rains continue, the seeds frequently 
 perish in the ground ; but if the earth is well pre- 
 pared by dry searching winds for their reception, 
 they quickly re-appear with a garniture of leaves 
 or flowers. As the seasons are uncertain in this 
 high northern latitude, seeds of various kinds are 
 
MARCH. 45 
 
 carefully dried, and preserved through the win- 
 ter: when committed to the earth, they produce 
 much finer plants than such as were scattered by 
 the wind a fact well known to florists, who ob- 
 serve that self-sown seeds soon lose the beauties 
 acquired by cultivation, and regain their original 
 wild character. 
 
 The business of husbandry is now proceeding. 
 On the farm, barley, white oats, tares, clover, tre- 
 foil, saint-foin, and peas, are diligently sown ; in 
 the kitchen garden, seeds and roots of the most 
 useful vegetables; in the flower borders, sweet 
 peas, larkspurs, lupins, and ten- week stocks. 
 
 " The earth that in her genial breast, 
 Makes for the down a kindly nest, 
 Where, wafted by the warm south-west, 
 
 It floats at pleasure, 
 Yields, thankful, of her very best, 
 
 To nurse her treasure. 
 
 True to her trust, tree, herb, or reed, 
 She renders for her scatter'd seed, 
 And to her Lord, with duteous heed 
 
 Gives large increase : 
 Thus, year by year, she works unfeed, 
 
 And will not cease. 
 
 Woe worth these barren hearts of ours, 
 Where Thou hast set celestial flowers, 
 And water' d with more balmy showers 
 
 Than e'er distill'd 
 In Eden, on th' ambrosial bowers 
 
 Yet nought we yield." 
 
 CHRISTIAN YEAR. 
 
46 ANNALS OF MY VILLAGE. 
 
 In every seed, the constitution is still more won- 
 derful than either its preservation or dispersion. 
 An admirable provision is made for the safety of 
 the germ, and the temporary support of the future 
 plant. The sprout, folded up in the seed, is deli- 
 cate and brittle it cannot be touched without 
 breaking ; yet in beans and peas, grass seeds, 
 grain, and fruits, it is so fenced on all sides and 
 carefully protected, that while the seed itself is 
 rudely handled, tossed by the husbandman into 
 sacks, or shovelled into heaps, the sacred particle, 
 the miniature plant, remains unhurt. It is won- 
 derful how many kinds of seeds, by the help of 
 their integuments, and perhaps of their oil, stand 
 out against decay. A grain of mustard seed 
 that little seed which impressively recalls to mind 
 the diffusion of Christianity has been known to 
 lie in the earth one hundred years, and when ex- 
 posed to the vivifying influence of air and light, 
 to shoot up as vigorously as if just gathered. The 
 temporary support of the future plant is equally 
 well provided for. In grain and pulse, in the 
 kernels of stone fruit and pippins, the germ is so 
 minute as hardly to be discerned. The rest con- 
 sists of a nutritious substance, from which the 
 sprout derives its aliment, until the fibres that 
 shoot forth from the other end of the seed are 
 able to imbibe sufficient juices from the earth. 
 
MARCH. 47 
 
 Owing to this admirable provision, this ready sup- 
 ply of nourishment, unsown seeds often sprout, 
 and the sprouts make considerable progress with- 
 out any assistance from the" earth. 
 
 On all subjects, the most common observations 
 are the best " when their truth and strength 
 have made them common." Of this kind is one 
 concerning plants, which particularly belongs to 
 the present month, and refers to their germination. 
 But as the essential properties of all seeds are 
 similar, when considered with regard to the prin- 
 ciples of vegetation, my particular description shall 
 be confined to two seeds, the great garden bean, 
 and wheat. Neither is the choice of these alto- 
 gether arbitrary ; for after they begin to vege- 
 tate, their parts are more conspicuous than many 
 others, and consequently better calculated for in- 
 vestigation. 
 
 The garden bean consists of various component 
 parts ; a radicle, or future root, with a small open- 
 ing in the thick end of the bean, through which 
 it emerges to the light ; a bud, or germ, a paren- 
 chymatous part, curiously organized and consist- 
 ing of innumerable bladders resembling those in 
 the pith of trees, and two lobes. These parts are 
 closely wrapped in two coats, or membranes. The 
 outer extremely thin and porous, the inner thick ; 
 both may easily be divided after lying a few days 
 
48 ANNALS OF MY VILLAGE. 
 
 in the earth. When the young plant emerges into 
 life, the lobes rise also ; they appear like two 
 thick leaves, and serve to protect it from the injury 
 of weather: they also absorb the dew and rain, 
 and assist the yet feeble root in nourishing the 
 young plant. In order to effect this purpose, in- 
 numerable branches beautifully ramify over the 
 whole surface of the lobes, and convey nourish- 
 ment both to the root and plant ; but when the 
 former has descended deep into the earth, and is 
 able to absorb sufficient nourishment, the friendly 
 lobes gradually decay and fall off. 
 
 When also a grain of corn is cast into the 
 ground, the vital principle expands, and a great 
 change immediately takes place. From one end 
 of the grain issues a green sprout ; from the other, 
 a number of white fibrous threads. How can this 
 be explained ? Why are there not sprouts or 
 fibrous threads from both ends ? The difference 
 can only be assigned to the different uses which 
 the parts subserve. The sprout, or plumule, 
 struggles into the air, and becomes a plant ; the 
 fibres shoot into the earth, and form roots that 
 firmly fix the plant in the ground, and collect 
 nourishment from the soil for its support. Nor is 
 it less worthy of remark, that even if a seed is 
 completely reversed, still every thing goes on 
 right. The sprout, after pushing down a little 
 
MARCH. 49 
 
 way, makes a bend, and turns upwards ; the fibres, 
 on the contrary, after shooting towards the light, 
 seem to discover their mistake, and turn again into 
 the earth. Who adapted the objects to be attained 
 by each ? Who assigned such a quality to each of 
 these connate parts, as to be excited only by its 
 appropriate element, by that precisely on which 
 its growth depends ? The great Creator of the uni- 
 verse ! He who has given to every seed its own 
 body. If the event had depended on the position 
 in which the scattered seed was sown, the hus- 
 bandman would have toiled in vain. Not one seed 
 among a hundred falls in a right direction. 
 
 I have often watched the labourer while thus 
 employed, and thought how pleasingly the highest 
 expectations of frail mortals may be associated 
 with the occupations of rural life. 
 
 The little seed which the careful husbandman 
 deposits in the ground, has no appearance of either 
 root or stalk, of blade or ear. But the Most 
 High, in the course of his natural operations, and 
 by certain laws with which we are unacquainted, 
 calls forth the germ, causes it to appear above the 
 rich brown earth, and invests it with such a body 
 as pleases him; each grows in its appropriate 
 place, and is beautiful in order and succession, 
 though differing in degrees of vegetable glory. 
 
50 ANNALS OF MY VILLAGE. 
 
 Thus, O Christian ! shalt thou be raised up ! 
 Though like wheat, or it may chance some other 
 grain, thy mortal part shall become earthy, scarce- 
 ly distinguishable from the turf beneath which thy 
 weeping friends shall lay thee ; yet thou shalt 
 stand at the last day on the earth, be raised incor- 
 ruptible, bearing the image of thy descending 
 Lord, prompt to do his will, and qualified to enjoy 
 the purest sensations and delights of the celestial 
 state. 
 
 Corvus, Virgo, the Serpent 's-head, and part of 
 Hercules, rise with the constellations of last month, 
 and several flowers are now added to the calendar 
 of Flora. We observe, in brakes and meadows, 
 the lesser celandine with its glossy yellow cups, 
 the speedwell, hawthorn, and those two most fra- 
 grant flowers the violet, and the meek, the soft- 
 eyed primrose. 
 
 " Oh ! who can speak his joys, when spring's young morn, 
 
 From wood and pasture opens to his view ; 
 When tender green buds blush upon the thorn, 
 And the first primrose dips its leaves in dew !" 
 
 An agreeable wine is prepared from this fa- 
 vourite flower, and silk-worms may be fed upon 
 the leaves. Single and double varieties, of diffe- 
 rent tints, aiie cultivated in our gardens, and none 
 are more elegant than the double lilac ; yet still the 
 
MARCH. 51 
 
 sulphur-coloured primrose, (primula* vulgaris,) 
 the one associated with cowslips and meadows, 
 is the reigning favourite. " It is this which 
 shines like an earth-star from amid the grass, by 
 the brook side, lighting the hand to pluck it. 
 We do, indeed, give the name of primrose to the 
 double lilac flower, but we do this in courtesy ; 
 we feel that it is not the primrose of our youth, 
 not the primrose with which we have played at 
 bo-peep in the woods ; nor the irresistible prim- 
 rose which has so often lured our young feet into 
 the wet grass, and procured us colds and chidings. 11 
 There is a sentiment in flowers ; there are flowers 
 which we cannot look upon, or even hear named, 
 without recurring tc something that has an interest 
 in our heart ; and such are the primrose, the violet, 
 and the daisy. 
 
 What shall we say of the violet, " the violet 
 blue that on the moss bank grows ?" 
 
 * Diminutive of primus, first, or early in the spring. Hence 
 also prime or primrose. 
 
 The polianthus is supposed to originate both from the primrose 
 and cowslip, but principally from the latter. The favourite tribe 
 of auriculas, 
 
 v _'.'.r- - ."enriched 
 With shining meal o'er all their velvet leaves/" 
 
 are also derived from the primula auricula, a native of the Swiss 
 mountains. The plants may be rendered surprisingly large and 
 beautiful, by laying pieces of raw meat near the roots. 
 
 E 2 
 
52 ANNALS OF MY VILLAGE. 
 
 " She lifts up her dewy eye of blue, 
 To the younger sky of the self-same hue. 
 And when the spring comes with her host 
 Of flowers, that flower belov'd the most 
 Shrinks from the crowd, that may confuse 
 Her heavenly odour, and virgin hues." 
 
 This charming little flower (viola odorata) was 
 early devoted to the service of the fair. Wander- 
 ing troubadours selected it as the prototype of a 
 golden prize awarded annually on May-day, to 
 the most meritorious competitors in poetry ; and 
 thus was instituted at Toulouse, a society which 
 subsequently became more extended than the Aca- 
 demy of floral games. In later times, the cele- 
 brated Marmontel became a successful candidate 
 for the golden violet, and has recorded the inci- 
 dent in a lively and not uninstructive tale. The 
 cowslip too is here, the primula officinalis, with 
 its saffron-coloured spots of " fairy favours," 
 
 " Whose simple sweets with curious skill, 
 Our frugal cottage dames distil, 
 
 Nor envy France the wine, 
 While many a festal cup they fill 
 
 With Britain's homely wine." 
 
 How sweetly fragrant is this flower ! who can 
 look upon it without a thousand undefinable as- 
 sociations? It calls up images of youth and 
 gladness, when heart answered to heart, and life 
 appeared as an unlimited horizon. Even to old 
 
M AHCH. 53 
 
 age it cheers us; and he who, halt and feeble, 
 goes forth leaning on his staff to sun himself in 
 the invigorating beams, remembers that 
 
 . . " It is the same. It is the very scent, 
 That bland, yet luscious, meadow breathing sweet, 
 Which he remember'd, when his childish feet,. 
 With a new life-rejoicing spirit, went 
 Through the deep grass with wild flowers richly blent, 
 That smiled to high heaven, from off their verdant seat, 
 But it brings not to him such joy complete : 
 Yet he remembers well, how then he spent 
 In blessedness, in sunshine, and in flowers, 
 The beautiful noon ; and then, how seated round 
 The odorous pile, upon the shady ground 
 A boyish group ; they laughed away the hours, 
 Plucking the yellow bloom for future wine, 
 While o'er them play'd a mother's smile divine." 
 
 The mezerion, also, fills the air with its sweet 
 fragrance ; and daffodils 
 
 " That come before the swallow dares, and take 
 The winds of March with beauty." 
 
 In warm sheltered garden borders, we have now 
 the sweet jonquil, polianthus, peeping Nanny, ox- 
 lips, crown imperials, yellow star of Bethlehem, 
 mountain soldanella, St. Catherine's flower, and 
 heartVease, or pansy, celebrated in different Euro- 
 pean countries by six or seven endearing names. 
 
 . "That garden gem, 
 Heart's-ease, like a gallant bold, 
 In his cloth of purple and gold ;" 
 
54 ANNALS OF MY VILLAGE. 
 
 that beautiful little flower (viola tricolor) which 
 ancient poets dedicated to St. Valentine ; and truly 
 it must be confessed, this little flower was a choice 
 worthy of that popular saint, for it grows alike in 
 the humblest and the richest soils, and remains so 
 pertinaciously, that rough must be the hand which 
 can tear it away. Ancient walls and ruins are fre- 
 quently overtopped by dark green mosses, during 
 the present month, and these are pleasingly contrast- 
 ed with the pretty white blossoms of the nail wort, 
 (draba hirta,) and rich yellow tints of the stone- 
 crop (sedum acre). This is a gay flower which 
 seems to shed perpetual sunshine over the thatched 
 roof, or ruined wall ; yet still it frequently occurs, 
 
 " That frosts succeed, and winds impetuous rush, 
 And hailstones rattle through the budding hush ; 
 And night-fall'n lamhs require the shepherd's care, 
 And gentle ewes that still their burdens bear : 
 Beneath whose sides to-morrow's dawn may see 
 The milk white strangers bow the trembling knee ; 
 At whose first birth the pow'rful instinct's seen, 
 That fills with champions the daisied green ; 
 For sheep that stood aloof with fearful eye, 
 With stamping foot, now men and dogs defy, 
 And obstinately faithful to their young, 
 Guard their first steps to join the bleating throng.*' 
 
 BLOOMFIELD. 
 
 When the wind is still, and the weather warm 
 and sunny, you may see the lambs chasing one the 
 other in sportive gambols, and hear a louder hum- 
 
MAHCH. 0$ 
 
 ming of bees about the hive. The wild pigeon 
 coos in the woods, and domestic poultry lay eggs 
 and sit. When about to be thus employed, the 
 pullet announces her intention with an easy and 
 soft joyous note. This is apparently an event of 
 no small importance in the annals of the farm- 
 yard ; for as soon as an egg is deposited, forth 
 she rushes with a kind of clamorous joy, in which 
 all her neighbours seem to participate. The tu- 
 mult is not confined to those who are most inter- 
 ested in the event : it extends from one homestead 
 to another, till at length the whole village is in 
 an uproar. 
 
 I pretend not to understand the language of my 
 feathery friends, like the vizier, who, by relating 
 a conversation between two owls, reclaimed Sultan 
 Mahmoud, whose perpetual wars abroad, and ty- 
 ranny at home, had filled his dominions with ruin 
 and desolation ; but I have often listened with de- 
 light, not only to the clamours of a poultry-yard, 
 but to the various sounds and voices that proceed 
 from every hedge and coppice, at this season of 
 the year. One species is restricted to a few impor- 
 tant notes ; another is rather silent ; while a third 
 is copious and fluent in utterance. Some persons 
 affect to doubt the truth of this; they will not believe 
 that a conversation can be carried on, or feelings ex- 
 pressed, by creatures that are gifted only with a 
 
56 ANNALS OF MY VILLAGE. 
 
 bill. Why not ? Much of my time has been 
 spent among the animal creation, and I am in- 
 clined to form a very different opinion. I have 
 observed their actions in detail, and it appears to 
 me, that their feelings are expressed by various 
 intonations. If, for instance, a mother alarmed 
 for her family, had but one cry with which to 
 convey her fears, the family would, on hearing it, 
 always make the same movement. But the fact 
 is otherwise ; and it is therefore reasonable to con- 
 clude, that if the actions vary, the language that 
 directs them must vary also. In listening to these 
 cries, we seem only to hear an unmeaning repeti- 
 tion ; but is it not so with those who first listen 
 to a foreign language, and that time and habit can 
 alone enable them to distinguish the various into- 
 nations ? As the organs of birds are dissimilar 
 to our own, their topics of conversation widely 
 different, it is still more difficult, nay almost impos- 
 sible, to observe and to discriminate their accents 
 and inflexions. Yet we cannot doubt that every 
 species has a language peculiarly its own ; and we 
 have every reason to conclude, from the details of 
 ancient naturalists, and from a few brief hints in 
 the sacred writings, that the language has never 
 experienced any change. 
 
 The linnet, sparrow,, starling, the nightingale, 
 and woodlark, the frequenters of fields and up- 
 
MARCH. 57 
 
 lands, of the forest and the wild, have all a me- 
 dium of communication with which to express 
 their wishes and their wants, their anxieties and 
 joys. But as there exists between them but a 
 limited number of relations, as they are strangers 
 to those numerous refinements that spring from 
 society, leisure, and ennui, their language, how- 
 ever modulated, is necessarily concise. My obser- 
 vations lead me to conclude, that it is most copious 
 among singing birds; that in the carnivorous 
 tribes, which pass their days on rocks or in hollow 
 trees, it is less exuberant; and that in the reed 
 sparrow and martin, swallow, swift, bullfinch, star- 
 ling, woodpecker, kingfisher, nuthatch, and doubt- 
 less in many others, it is mostly confined to mono- 
 syllables. 
 
 The raven, song-thrush, and blackbird, which 
 build their nests in February, hatch during the 
 present month. 
 
 " And lofty elms, and venerable oats, 
 Invite the rook, who high amid the boughs, 
 In early spring, his airy city builds, 
 And ceaseless caws amusive." 
 
 This interesting species (corvus frugilegus) de- 
 light in the neighbourhood of man. They even 
 select isolated trees in the midst of populous cities, 
 as places of security and retreat. In these they 
 establish a kind of legal constitution, by which all 
 
58 ANNALS OF MY VILLAGE. 
 
 intruders are excluded, and none are permitted to 
 build their nests but acknowledged denizens of the 
 place. If a foreigner attempts to gain a settle- 
 ment, the whole grove is in an uproar, and he is 
 expelled without mercy. This extraordinary fact 
 did not escape the observation of ancient natu- 
 ralists, and is confirmed by the moderns. Yet 
 though every individual unites with his sable bre- 
 thren in resisting aggressions against the welfare 
 of the whole community, no one endeavours to 
 encroach, like too many of mankind, upon the 
 liberties of another. These birds congregate har- 
 moniously together, as they did in the days of 
 Pliny, while their relative, the hooded crow (cor- 
 vus cornix) has always been a wanderer : the clan 
 of which she is a member are equally without police 
 or restraint. Every living creature has some allotted 
 duty to perform, or some important lesson to in- 
 culcate. If common rooks congregate together, 
 the reason is, because the unalterable laws of na- 
 ture prescribe that it should be so, and because 
 the joint labours of the community are necessary, 
 in order to keep down the abundance of earth- 
 worms and insects. If their relative, the hooded 
 crow, wanders from Indus to the Pole, the reason 
 is, that her annual visitations are essential, and 
 that nature has implanted in her breast instincts 
 from which she never swerves. Hence she has no 
 
MARCH. 59 
 
 occasion for wholesome laws, or the precepts of 
 hoary-headed age, to control her conduct, or to re- 
 gulate the part she ought to act. 
 
 In ancient times a rookery was annexed to 
 every baronial mansion. But now that landscape 
 gardening has superseded avenues and fountains, 
 green latticed alleys, and bird-cage walks, the 
 sable brotherhood betake themselves to the neigh- 
 bourhood of farm-houses and deep woods. A 
 row of elms near the Lodge-farm, westward of the 
 village, is one of their favourite resorts. The 
 traveller may see them returning in long lines 
 from the foraging of the day, wheeling round in 
 the air, or dipping down in a playful manner, and 
 then retiring with the last gleam of evening. 
 While thus employed, their deep cawings, heard 
 in the neighbouring village, and blended and soft- 
 ened by the distance, become a confused noise, or 
 rather, an indistinct murmur, not unlike the 
 rustling of winds in hollow echoing woods, or the 
 tumbling of the tide upon a pebbly shore. " We 
 remember," says the elegant historian of Selborne, 
 " a little girl, who, as she was going to bed, used 
 to remark upon the occurrence, in the true spirit 
 of physico- theology, that the rooks were saying 
 their prayers." 
 
 Sportsman ! wherever you see the rook, respect 
 him, level not your gun at him, nor wound him 
 
60 ANNALS OF MY VILLAGE. 
 
 with a stone. He is the farmer's most faithful 
 servant, the searcher of his field for injurious in- 
 sects. Look narrowly before you fire, lest you 
 bring him down instead of the carrion crow (cor- 
 vus corone) ; I will tell you wherein they differ. 
 His bill is somewhat slenderer, the base of a 
 whitish cast. The tail feathers are broad and 
 rounded, the plumes glossed with purple, whereas 
 those of his relative are sable, and pointed at the 
 tip. Poor harmless bird ! he never injured the 
 property of any man, and yet he is subjected to 
 perpetual annoyance from resembling his less 
 amiable, though useful relative, whose predatory 
 disposition inclines him to prey on small chickens; 
 hence the shots of the fowler often lay him low, 
 while occupied in the laudable employment of 
 searching the farmer's field for insects, and he is 
 shamefully exhibited as a scarecrow amid the 
 scenes of his honest labours. 
 
 I have seen hundreds of these useful birds on a 
 fine green meadow near the village, stalking up 
 and down with the most perfect self-possession, as 
 if conscious of their gracious errand, seeking for 
 grubs and worms, caterpillars, and such insects as 
 are their natural food. As far as I have been able 
 to observe, they never pulled up a single plant, 
 which had not already been partially eaten, or 
 begun upon by some devouring insect. A nest of 
 
MARCH. 61 
 
 rooks will destroy daily, at least, two thousand of 
 the destructive tipulce oleracice, the bane of 
 corn-fields. How incalculably beneficial, then, 
 must the neighbourhood of a rookery be to the 
 agriculturist, and how little reason has he to com- 
 plain of the partial inconvenience they may oc- 
 casion ! 
 
 The nightingale has not yet arrived, nor such 
 tuneful birds as swell the chorus of the groves ; 
 but the willow-wren and the stone-curlew are 
 come, and the owl hoots from her bower. This 
 bird has a very extraordinary note, much resem- 
 bling the human voice. She has also a quiet call, 
 and a fearful scream, and can snore and hiss when 
 she designs to menace. Occasionally, her cry is 
 hollow, and sounds throughout her melancholy 
 solitudes as the lamentation of one who has been 
 led astray. " I will wail and howl," said the 
 prophet Micah, when deploring the threatened 
 desolation of his people ; " I will make a wailing 
 like the dragons, and mourning like the owls."* 
 
 Nature assigns to every class its peculiar lan- 
 guage, and adapts this language to their assigned 
 localities. The owl's lugubrious voice accords 
 with her solitary haunts, with long and solemn 
 avenues that lead to deserted mansions, or with 
 the ruins of abbeys that lie scattered up and 
 * Micah i. 8. 
 
ANNALS OF MY VILLAGE. 
 
 down, half covered with ivy or elder, the harbour 
 of birds that seldom make their appearance till 
 the dusk of evening. In these she loves to utter 
 her solemn voice, when twilight heightens the 
 awfulness of such retreats, and invests them with 
 a kind of superstitious horror. To some her cry 
 is melancholy and predictive of ill : she is a bird 
 of omen, and of reverential dread ; and if the 
 larger species chance to cry beside the cottage- 
 door, they expect to see the master pine away 
 with a slow consuming sickness, or that the fa- 
 vourite bairn, the little one, will be laid under the 
 daisy sheet. Far be from me, and from my 
 friends, that frigid philosophy which could ridi- 
 cule the harmless prejudices of our village neigh- 
 bours ; for my own part, I like to hear her so- 
 lemn voice in the silent watches of the night, or 
 when the gusty winds are wailing round my dwell- 
 ing. Then, "if awake and restless, the thoughts 
 of my ups and downs in life, and little crosses and 
 disappointments," break in upon me, and throw 
 me into a pensive mood, this boding bird seems to 
 bear me company. " She tells me," as Warter- 
 ton beautifully observes, " that hard has her lot 
 been;" but that having chosen for herself a lodge 
 in some hollow tree, she has more of life's content- 
 ment than when she moved up and down in the 
 busy haunts of restless mortals. 
 
MARCH. 63 
 
 And when in the bright clear mornings the 
 winds have ceased their contention, and this boding 
 bird hushed her complaining voice, I walk through 
 the mossy lanes that surround my quiet dwelling, 
 the brimstone butterfly, (gonepteryx rhamni^) the 
 deceptive herald of the spring, comes to accom- 
 pany my ramble. Others also spread their wings 
 in the warm sunshine, but she is the most obvious 
 of her tribe. I have seen her flitting on the beau- 
 tiful banks of the Linn, at Leymouth, and among 
 the deep beech woods of Gloucestershire, like an 
 animated primrose flower, where her wings ap- 
 pearing fresh and uninjured, have convinced me, 
 that though several species live throughout the 
 winter, secluded in old walls, hollow trees, or be- 
 neath the shelter of the ivy, she has just emerged 
 from her chrysalis. 
 
 This welcome, though deceptive stranger, can 
 boast a metamorphosis strange as that which the 
 owl is fabled to complain of, and to lament all 
 the day long. A few weeks since, she crawled 
 upon the earth in the form of a hairy caterpillar ; 
 now, four beautiful wings appear where there 
 were none before; a tubular proboscis succeeds a 
 mouth with jaws and teeth., and six long legs take 
 the place of fourteen short ones. In other in- 
 stances, a white, smooth, soft worm is turned into 
 a black, hard, crustaceous beetle, with gauze 
 
64 ANNALS OF MY VILLAGE. 
 
 wings. This process must require a proportion- 
 ably artificial apparatus ; but how is it effected ? 
 The latest discoveries incline us to believe that 
 the insect, already equipped with wings, may be 
 descried under the membranes of the grub or 
 chrysalis. In some species, the proboscis, the an- 
 tennae, the limbs, and wings, are to be seen folded 
 up within the body of the caterpillar; and with 
 such nicety as to occupy a small space only under 
 the first two wings. Thus constructed, the outer- 
 most animal, which, independent of its own proper 
 character, serves as an integument to the other 
 two, being the furthest advanced, perishes, and 
 drops off first. The second, the pupa, or chry- 
 salis, then offers itself to observation. This, also, 
 in its turn dies ; its dead and brittle husk falls to 
 pieces, and makes way for the appearance of the 
 fly, or moth. How wonderful ! how curious! 
 Here is a threefold organization : the worm that 
 creeps upon the ground, the curiously folded 
 chrysalis, the butterfly that soars and sails on 
 painted wings through the soft air, yet there is a 
 vascular system which supplies nutrition, growth, 
 and life, to all of them together. 
 
65 
 
 APRIL. 
 
 " Moist, bright, and green, the landscape laughs around, 
 Full swell the woods ; and every music wakes, 
 Mix'd in wild concert with the warbling brooks. 
 Increased the distant bleating of the hills, 
 And hollow lowes responsive from the vales." 
 
 THOMSON. 
 
 VIRGIL has elegantly given to the vernal season 
 the epithet of blushing, because the shoots and 
 buds of trees assume a ruddy appearance, previous 
 to throwing out their leaves. This beautiful 
 effect is very obvious in the deep beech woods of 
 Gloucestershire. Unenlivened by that silver rind, 
 and those multifarious tintings that diversify the 
 stem and branches of the birch, they present a 
 dreary appearance through the winter months. 
 But in April a slight change of hue becomes per- 
 ceptible. A casual observer might ascribe it to a 
 drier air, a clearer atmosphere, or to those tran- 
 sient gleams of sunshine which seem to light up 
 the face of nature with a smile. But the effect 
 
66 ANNALS OF MY VILLAGE. 
 
 arises from that secret renovation which the aged 
 fathers of the forest, and their sapling sons, are now 
 experiencing. The swelling buds are first brown, 
 then bronze, then of a reddish hue, and thus they 
 continue till a light green bough is seen to wave, as 
 if in triumph, from some warm sheltered nook. 
 This is the signal for a general foliation; and he 
 who retires in the evening, casting a look at his 
 beloved woods, rather wishing, than expecting, 
 that another week will cover them with leaves, 
 often rejoices the next morning, to observe that 
 the whole forest has burst into greenness and 
 luxuriance. 
 
 We speak of the miracles of nature, but this is 
 only another name for an effect of which the cause 
 is God. He folds up the tender germ in its rus- 
 set case, and covers it with a coating that pre- 
 serves it uninjured amid the raging of those 
 storms which are ministers of his, and do his plea- 
 sure. The smallest leaves present some traces of 
 his beneficence from him is derived their balmy 
 odours, their hues, their delicate ramifications, 
 their endless variety of forms. Happy are those 
 who confess him in his works the Creator in the 
 things created. 
 
 " Or what they view of beautiful or grand 
 In nature, from the broad majestic oak 
 To the green leaf, that twinkles in the sun, 
 
APRIL. 67 
 
 Prompts with remembrance of a present God ! 
 His presence, who made all so fair, perceived, 
 Makes all still fairer." COWPER. 
 
 It is foreign to the subject of this section to 
 enlarge minutely on the subject of vegetable phy- 
 siology, but I shall briefly notice the hand of 
 Deity, as displayed in the gradual formation and 
 expansion of a leafbud, and then pass on. 
 
 Tender embryos, wrapped up with a compact- 
 ness which no art can imitate, compose what we 
 call the bud. The bud itself is inclosed in scales, 
 which scales are formed from the remains of past 
 leaves, and the rudiments of new ones. When 
 opened in this rudimental state, it presents the ap- 
 pearance of being filled with coarse moist cotton, 
 but when subjected to a high magnifier, it dis- 
 plays much exquisite and appropriate machi- 
 nery. 
 
 Short and thick vesssels, that spring from the 
 larger reservoirs of the inner bark, form the mid- 
 rib of the leaves ; others of a fine and silky tex- 
 ture diverge from either side, and become inter- 
 laced ; the pabulum, a kind of thick juice that 
 flows from the vessels of the bark, then settles on 
 them in little bladders, and appears like a green 
 substance. This is again crossed with interlacing 
 fibres, which are succeeded by another layer of 
 bladders, and thus the process goes on, till the 
 
68 ANNALS OF MY VILLAGE. 
 
 cuticle, that fine membrane which excludes every 
 thing of an injurious nature, enwraps the whole, 
 as with a firm and adhesive coating. But what is 
 the use of that glutinous liquor, or pabulum, 
 which appears like little bladders ? It thickens 
 the leaf, and serves to moisten the component 
 parts. The leaf-scales also perform an important 
 office ; they remain stationary, tightly brace, com- 
 press the whole together, and preserve it from 
 any extraneous injury. 
 
 When the leaf is nearly completed, the edges 
 exhibit, on being opened, a double row of bubbles, 
 sparkling like brilliants ; these generally divide, 
 and, when no longer necessary, dry up, and leave 
 horny points. The leaf then emerges to life and 
 light, and answers the same purpose for the sup- 
 port of vegetable, as the lungs for that of animal 
 life. It is an organ of respiration to the parent 
 tree, supplying, by the means of absorbent vessels, 
 in a great degree, the want of water to the root 
 drawing in the atmospheric air, purifying the 
 most obnoxious, and breathing it out again in a 
 state fit for respiration. Yet this important organ 
 is delicate and fragile, composed of the finest net- 
 work, and merely defended by a tender coating 
 from external injury. 
 
 Leaves also heighten the effect of landscape 
 scenery, by their pleasing colours, and the exqui- 
 
APRIL. 69 
 
 site variety of their forms. Who does not ac- 
 knowledge their magic effect in the deep gloom, 
 the lighter tints, the ever varying hues of the re- 
 tiring woodland, or beneath the shade of over- 
 arching trees ? How sportive, then, is the light as 
 it appears through the quivering branches, dancing 
 as they dance, intermingling shade and sunshine, 
 now darkening, and now enlightening the chequer- 
 ed earth, as the leaves are agitated by the wind ! 
 How magic, too, the effect which they produce, 
 when the moonbeams seem to glide between them, 
 and the forest walks now appear to open into 
 glades full of splendour and repose, on which her 
 bright cold beams shine full and clear, and now 
 again into lengthened vistas of strange and myste- 
 rious loneliness ! 
 
 The gradual or rapid unfolding of a leaf is also 
 one of Nature's way-marks. It silently proclaims 
 the gradual progress of the seasons, and points 
 out the period when certain seeds and flowers 
 should be committed to the earth. 
 
 Linnaeus exhorted his hardy countrymen to 
 watch carefully the expanding and unfolding of 
 buds and leaves in different forest trees, rightly 
 judging that the husbandman might derive im- 
 portant hints from thus observing them. 
 
 Harold Barch, acting on this idea, accurately 
 noted the epochs at which different species budded 
 
70 ANNALS OF MY VILLAGE. 
 
 and put forth their leaves, when the countrymen 
 sowed their fields, and how many weeks elapsed 
 between the seed-time and the harvest. His obser- 
 vations went to prove that the same constitution of 
 the air, and degree of solar heat, which brings 
 forth the tender leaf, causes, also, the grain to 
 vegetate. He, therefore, recommended the hus- 
 bandman to regulate his time of sowing by the 
 foliation of such trees as grew around his field, to 
 observe, from one season to another, how each, ac- 
 cording to its soil and species, and its exposure 
 to the sun and air, burst into leaf; well knowing 
 that a cold north wind, the shade of a near cliff, or 
 moist soil, tends to prevent the early leafing of some 
 trees, as much as a dry situation or a sloping hill, 
 inclining to the south, promotes it. 
 
 Eighteen naturalists followed this ingenious 
 suggestion, and their concurring observations 
 made in Sweden, Norway, Lapland, and Fin- 
 land, led to the conclusion, that in Upland, its 
 immediate dependencies, and generally throughout 
 Sweden, barley sowing nearly coincided with the 
 foliation of the birch ; and that in places where, 
 from a diversity of soil or climate, this tree could 
 not be entirely depended on, some other might be 
 referred to as a natural calendar. 
 
 A strict regard was further recommended to 
 the kind of crop, that was produced from seeds 
 
Al'lilL. 71 
 
 sown at intervals; that, by com paring 'these with 
 the foliation of the nearest trees, a clearer light 
 might be thrown upon the subject. It was also 
 urged that some attention should be paid to the 
 opening of different wild flowers in each province, 
 and then noted the degrees of heat or cold. 
 
 But Swedish husbandmen had recourse to this 
 natural calendar, long before the great Linnaeus, 
 or the indefatigable Barch recommended its adop- 
 tion. The mower ascertained the season proper 
 for cutting grass in sheltered fields, either from the 
 flowering of the parnassia, marsh gentian, or as- 
 phodel, from the withering of the purple meadow 
 trefoil, or the ripening of the seeds of the yellow 
 rattle ; and on elevated places, from the sallow hue 
 of the leopard's bane. The gardener was taught 
 that his house-plants should not be trusted to the 
 open air, till the leaves of the oak and ash began 
 to open. 
 
 A prudent husbandman will ever carefully en- 
 deavour to ascertain the proper time, in which to 
 sow his seed; for this, by the blessing of Him, who 
 sends the early and the latter rain, causes the 
 valleys to stand thick with corn, and lays a foun- 
 dation for public and private happiness. But he 
 who is ignorantly tenacious of ancient customs, 
 fixes his sowing season to a month or day, regard- 
 less whether or not the earth is well prepared. 
 
72 ANNALS OF MY VILLAGE. 
 
 Hence it happens that what the sower often sows 
 with labour, the reaper reaps with sorrow ; that 
 the farmer frequently murmurs against Provi- 
 dence for causing his fields to mourn in weeds, or 
 to produce such grain as the reaper wishes not to 
 fill his arms with, nor he that bindeth sheaves his 
 bosom ; while he ought rather to accuse himself 
 that his granary is not better stored. 
 
 We know from Hesiod, that in ancient times 
 the details of rural life were regulated by the 
 flowering of certain plants, and the arrival and de- 
 parture of certain birds. He tells us, that should 
 it happen to rain three "nights together, when the 
 cuckoo sings, that late will be as good as early 
 sowing ; that when snails creep out of their re- 
 treats, and climb up the nearest stems, the labourer 
 should no longer dig around, but begin to prune 
 his vines ; that when the fig-leaf opens, the sailor 
 might put to sea ; when the voice of the returning 
 crane was heard on high, then was the time to 
 plough. 
 
 Serpentarius has now risen towards the east, 
 Anser, Lacerta Stellio, and Libra, with its beautiful 
 collection of bright twinkling stars, have become 
 visible in the ecliptic, and when the evenings are 
 bright and clear, the milky way appears in all 
 its beauty. 
 
APRIL. 73 
 
 " That milky way 
 
 Which nightly as a circling zone thou seest 
 Powdered with stars." MILTON. 
 
 Barley crops are frequently sown during the pre- 
 sent month; saintfoin, and lucern generally, potatoes 
 and autumn-sown cabbages are also planted ; the bu- 
 siness of fences is concluded towards the latter 
 end, for in this neighbourhood the farmers think 
 it bad husbandry to cut hedges after April. 
 
 In the garden, succession crops of such, as were 
 planted last month, continue to be sown, and fruit 
 trees are to be carefully attended to. 
 
 During this joyous month a general activity 
 seems to pervade the domains of nature: leaves 
 are bursting forth, flowers opening to the sun, 
 troops of joyous birds fill the air with their soft 
 voices, and such wild animals, as frequent our 
 heaths and woods are generally in motion. Foxes 
 seldom visit us, but hares and rabbits frequently. 
 The latter abound on a steep bank that rises pre- 
 cipitously from the village, interspersed with juni- 
 per and stunted beech, consisting of a dry rocky 
 soil, and open to the afternoon sun. 
 
 As their ceaseless evolutions, the arrangement 
 of their commonwealth, their innocent lives, and 
 the tender attachment of the females to their 
 young, cannot fail to attract the attention of a 
 naturalist, I have often gone to that steep bank, 
 
74 ANNALS OF MY VILLAGE. 
 
 in order to study their mode of life, and have re- 
 marked with astonishment the order and regu- 
 larity, with which all their little concerns are ap- 
 parently transacted. This is one of their busiest 
 months, and it is delightful to observe the tender 
 parental ministry of the mother. When about to 
 be occupied in maternal duties, she relinquishes 
 all her wonted habits, the wild companionship of 
 her associates, the delights of the forest and the 
 wild. This active creature submits to confine- 
 ment, at the very moment when every thing in- 
 vites her abroad ; " an animal delighting in mo- 
 tion, made for motion, whose feelings are so easy 
 and so free, hardly an hour at other times at rest," 
 is for many days together fixed in her dark 
 burrow, " as closely as if her limbs were tied 
 down by pins and wires." In order to render this 
 burrow the more comfortable for her young, she 
 makes a bed of the softest fur from her own warm 
 garment, and never ventures out for the first two 
 or three days, unless the pressing calls of hunger 
 should draw her from her beloved charge; she 
 then eats quickly, and returns as soon as possible. 
 Thus secluded, she continues to cherish them for 
 more than six weeks, during which the father 
 never intrudes. At length the happy era of their 
 deliverance approaches. The cautious parent 
 timidly leads them to the entrance of the dormi- 
 
APRIL. 75 
 
 tory, where they nibble groundsel and other 
 tender herbs, and the father seems to acknowledge 
 them as his own. He takes them between his 
 paws, smooths their soft hair, and licks them ; each 
 in their turns equally partakes of his care and 
 attention. 
 
 These animals live in a social state ; they appa- 
 rently take an interest in each other, and even 
 evince something like respect for the rights of pro- 
 perty. In their republic, as in that of Lacedae- 
 mon, old age, parental affection, and hereditary 
 rights, are respected; the same burrow passes 
 from father to son, and lineally from one gene- 
 ration to another : it is never abandoned by the 
 same family without necessity, but is enlarged in 
 proportion to its increase, by the addition of more 
 galleries or apartments. This succession of patri- 
 mony, this right of property, has been long ob- 
 served. 
 
 Jean Capin al!6qua la coutume, et 1' usage, 
 Ce sont leur lois, dit-il qui m'ont de ce logis, 
 Rendu maitre et seigneur, et qui, de pere en fils, 
 L'ait de Pierre a Simon, puis a moi, Jean, transmis. 
 
 M. Le Chapt also, who amused himself for many 
 years with raising rabbits, had frequently occa- 
 sion to observe the deference these animals evinced 
 towards their ancestor, who was distinguished by 
 the whiteness of his coat. Even such as had be- 
 
76 ANNALS OF MY VILLAGE. 
 
 come fathers, were subordinate to their sire. When- 
 ever any dispute arose, the grandfather ran to 
 them at full speed, and as soon as they perceived 
 him, order was re-established. If he surprised 
 them in the fact, he first separated the combatants, 
 and then gave them an exemplary chastisement. 
 Moutier had accustomed them to retire to their 
 apartment at the blowing of a whistle ; and when- 
 ever he gave the signal, however distant they 
 might be, the grandfather put himself at their 
 head ; and, though he arrived first, he seemed to 
 choose to see them all in, as he uniformly allowed 
 them to pass before, and entered last. 
 
 Yet notwithstanding these filial and parental 
 virtues, this respect for the rights of property, and 
 love of social order, the rabbit is universally pro- 
 scribed ; and this proscription most probably arises 
 from a certain similarity of tastes, and clashing of 
 interests, between the rabbit and the farmer. This 
 sportive creature is fond of cabbages and delicate 
 succulent plants ; so is the farmer, on account of 
 the good price they bring him in the market. He 
 loves to nibble the tops and sprouts of forest trees ; 
 and these are carefully cherished by the farmer, 
 for he looks towards them as a source of profit. 
 He has, besides, a partiality for the tender blades 
 of young corn; and this vexes the farmer, be- 
 cause ho desires to keep the profit to himself. Nor 
 
APRIL. 77 
 
 is this all ; he rises while the farmer sleeps, and 
 often riots, with his companions, in the kitchen- 
 garden, field, and wood, before even the early la- 
 bourer is awake. Boys are then set to watch the 
 fields ; and thus commences an endless train of 
 prejudices and antipathies, which end only with 
 the lives of the contending parties. The rabbit, 
 peeping cautiously from his burrow, and see- 
 ing the tender green blades glittering in the morn- 
 ing sun, or the dewy leaves of such young trees, 
 as he most affects, naturally looks upon the boys 
 as petty tyrants, who debar him from his choicest 
 viands ; the boys, on their part, regard him as a 
 rapacious freebooter, and they hate him the more 
 cordially, because the necessity of thus keeping 
 watch frequently debars them from their pastime 
 on the village green. Poor rabbit, how many are 
 thy grievances ! Perhaps, too, the plainness of 
 thy coat, and thy familiarity, so proverbially said 
 to produce contempt, may contribute to the pre- 
 judice against thee. But with the lovers of na- 
 ture and of rural charms, the innocent playfulness 
 of thy manners, moonlight gambols, and early 
 boundings over the dewy lawn, more than com- 
 pensate for all the little stolen morsels thou makest 
 free with. 
 
 This species came originally from Spain, but is 
 now spread throughout the temperate parts of Eu- 
 
78 ANNALS OF MY VILLAC4E. 
 
 rope. Impatient of the cold, they have never pene- 
 trated as far north as Sweden, though occasionally 
 retained in a domestic state ; even then they re- 
 quire a considerable degree of artificial warmth, 
 and perish, if abandoned in the fields. They de- 
 light in sultry climates, and are most abundant in 
 the southern parts of Asia and Africa, along the 
 Persian gulf, the bay of Soldani, in Lybia, Sene- 
 gal, and Guinea. 
 
 He who visits the steep, scarry heaths, on which 
 the rabbits colonize, in the beautiful twilight eve- 
 nings of this fine month, may see the timid hare 
 bound from her form or seat in the near wood or 
 field, sometimes singly, and at others with three 
 or four of her companions. This is their feeding 
 time ; they browse on the tender branches of the 
 young trees, and select the most juicy plants. 
 You may also see these harmless creatures playing 
 together, leaping and chasing one the other ; but 
 the smallest motion, or the noise of a falling leaf, 
 is sufficient to terrify, and make them run in dif- 
 ferent directions. 
 
 One of our sportsmen shot a hare near the vil- 
 lage. He afterwards started another, that was 
 partially white. The wary creature baffled his 
 attempts either to shoot or course it down ; and 
 he invariably observed that it endeavoured to con- 
 ceal the white part in running. 
 
APRIL. 79 
 
 This singular specimen was met with on the 
 borders of a deep solitary beech wood, that covers 
 a steep declivity along the turnpike-road at Chel- 
 tenham. 
 
 " Where oft my muse, what most delights her, sees 
 Long living galleries of aged trees ; 
 Bold sons of earth, that lift their arms so high, 
 As if once more they would invade the sky. 
 In such green palaces the first kings reign'd, 
 Slept in their shades, and angels entertain'd; 
 With such old counsellors they did advise, 
 And, by frequenting sacred groves, grew wise ; 
 Free from impediments of light and noise, 
 Man, thus retired, his nohler thoughts employs." 
 
 WALLER. 
 
 The beech woods, the beautiful beech woods, 
 which we all love, we must not take leave of, with- 
 out a few brief remarks on their most joyous in- 
 mate, the bounding, glad-hearted squirrel. 
 
 This graceful creature may be considered in a 
 state between savage and domestic. His gentle- 
 ness, docility, and inoffensiveness, entitle him to 
 protection and regard; and though occasionally 
 hostile to some neighbour of the forest, he is nei- 
 ther carnivorous nor generally prone to ill. He is 
 active, lively, vigilant, and industrious, with eyes 
 full of fire, a fine countenance, nervous body, and 
 nimble limbs. The beauty of his figure is height- 
 ened by a tail resembling a plume of feathers, 
 
80 ANNALS OF MY VILLAGE. 
 
 which he raises higher than his head, and under 
 which he shelters himself from the sun and wind. 
 Partaking less of the nature of a quadruped than 
 animals in general, he sits, if at ease, almost erect ; 
 but when listening, he straightens himself, and 
 lowers his tail to an horizontal position, in order 
 to support his body and prepare for sudden action. 
 When favourably situated, his activity is incredi- 
 ble, and his sudden turns are too quick for the 
 sight to follow. One might almost fancy him a 
 bird, from his extraordinary lightness ; and, like 
 the feathered tribes, he dwells on the highest trees, 
 and traverses the forest by leaping from one bough 
 to another. He likewise erects his little cita- 
 del on the top of some high tree, and while he 
 supports his family with grain and seeds, he sips 
 the dew from the spreading leaves, and descends 
 not to the earth unless the forest is agitated by a 
 storm. He is never found in the open fields, nor 
 on the plains. He rarely approaches our habita- 
 tions, and seldom remains among the brushwood. 
 When necessitated to cross a lake or river, he em- 
 ploys the bark of a tree for a ship, and uses his 
 tail to catch the wind. Some writers assert that 
 in Lapland, whole parties are often seen thus voy- 
 aging across the lakes, each mounted on a piece of 
 bark, with his tail unfurled to the breeze. Ever 
 alert and active, this little quadruped does not 
 
APRIL. 81 
 
 sleep, like the dormouse, during winter, nor does 
 lie give himself much repose at night ; but if the 
 woodman sounds his axe near the tree where his 
 little citadel is placed, or any intruder prowl 
 around, he never fails to keep as much as possible 
 on the opposite side of every branch, that he may 
 fly to, in order to obtain it's shelter between him- 
 self and his pursuer. Hence it is extremely diffi- 
 cult to reach the wary little fugitive with any kind 
 of missile. During the summer, he is occupied 
 in anticipating the privations of winter by what 
 would be termed among ourselves a prudent ap- 
 propriation of the superfluities of summer. For 
 this purpose, he selects some hollow in the earth, 
 or in an aged tree, where he stows his nuts and 
 acorns : when the cold weather sets in, or a rough 
 wind shakes the autumn fruits to the ground, he 
 repairs to his little hoard. Nay, he has been ob- 
 served to possess an undeviating knowledge where 
 these magazines are situated,, even after the snow 
 has reduced almost every thing to one common 
 level. He may then be seen scratching off the 
 snowy surface with his little hairy feet, and work- 
 ing his way in a direct line towards the object 
 of his search. But as it is probable that his 
 memory may occasionally fail with respect to the 
 exact spot where he deposited every appro, the in^ 
 dustrious little fellow no doubt loses a few every 
 
ANNALS OF MY VILLAGE. 
 
 year; these spring up, and frequently restore the 
 honours of the forest, when the woodman's hat- 
 chet has levelled its finest trees. Thus is Britain 
 indebted for many a lordly oak or elm, to the in- 
 dustry and forgetfulness of a squirrel. 
 
 Actions like these are so nearly allied to me- 
 mory and association, that it seems difficult to as- 
 certain whether they are blind impulses or results 
 of reason. 
 
 Yet as the instinct of accumulation is invariably 
 discovered in the squirrel tribe, I am rather inclined 
 to refer it to the former than to the latter cause ; 
 more especially as it is equally evinced in the tame 
 squirrel, which, after being captured in the nest, 
 and removed from parental example and instruction, 
 still continues to hoard up his nuts. If you offer 
 him plain food, he thankfully receives it ; if you 
 give him such as is more agreeable, he neither 
 drops nor carelessly throws away the former, but 
 endeavours to conceal the one before he receives 
 the other. 
 
 Those who are much abroad in the fine nights 
 of summer, may hear the shrill voices of these 
 active little foresters on the topmost boughs. Then 
 is their season for sport and play ; they also ga- 
 ther provisions, and delight in the banquet that 
 maternal nature has spread abroad. Like many 
 of their relatives, they cast their hair towards the 
 
APRIL. 83 
 
 end of winter, and re-appear in summer clothed 
 with new and richer fur. Cleanly to a proverb, 
 they comb and dress themselves with their paws 
 and teeth, and have no unpleasant scent. Their 
 affection for, and care of their young, is remark- 
 able ; and the male partakes with his mate in pro- 
 viding for them. This trait of character, thougli 
 common to the monogamous tribes, and generally 
 attributable to no higher source than that of in- 
 stinct, naturally excites a favourable opinion of 
 creatures, whose actions partake of what among 
 ourselves is the result of right feeling. 
 
 The common squirrel is very generally diffused, 
 but should rather be considered as aboriginal in 
 the northern, than in the temperate regions ; for so 
 abundant are they in Siberia, that immense num- 
 bers of their skins are annually imported from 
 that country. Why so few of this interesting fa- 
 mily should affect our portion of the globe, which 
 seems peculiarly favourable to their nature and 
 development, while in America the forests under 
 parallel degrees of latitude, resound with their 
 shrill voices, is a problem we have no means of 
 solving. 
 
 Different species abound in the warmer regions 
 of the earth ; but however varying in locality or 
 size, they assimilate in disposition with their Bri- 
 tish relative, the common squirrel. They are all 
 
4< ANNALS OF MY VILLAGE. 
 
 gay, vivacious creatures, that delight in running 
 through the deep pine forests, and exotic groves of 
 their respective habitats, living on high trees, and 
 often fixing their pensile cradles on the topmost 
 boughs. 
 
 Concerning the polecat, martin, and weasel, 
 which are seen occasionally in our woods, or hiding 
 among heaps of rubbish, I have been able to as- 
 certain few particulars of interest. Cuvier has 
 arranged them, in common with others of the wea- 
 sel tribe, among carnivorous quadrupeds, since the 
 physical character of the teeth evinces that they are 
 destined to seek their principal aliment from flesh, 
 though a slight departure from the carnivorous 
 form indicates a corresponding approach to the 
 substitution of a vegetable diet. Their disposi- 
 tion, nevertheless, is extremely cruel ; but from in- 
 feriority in size and power, they are capable only 
 of an inferior degree of mischief. 
 
 The first (mustela.putorius) is a complete free- 
 
APRIL. 85 
 
 hooter. He roams about the fields, searching for 
 the nests of partridges and larks, or climbs the 
 highest trees to storm the closely-woven citadels 
 of the smaller birds. Rats, mice, and moles, also 
 become his prey ; and with his neighbours in the 
 warren, he carries on perpetual and successful war- 
 fare. He unravels all the intricacies of their se- 
 cret burrows, enters them single-handed, and has 
 been known to exterminate a whole colony. . In 
 temperament and figure, he closely resembles the 
 rapacious martin ; and, like him, he fearlessly ap- 
 proaches our habitations, mounts the roof, or lurks 
 in hay-lofts, barns, and unfrequented places, whence 
 he issues in the night. Though aboriginal to so- 
 litary woods, he prefers to live in the neighbour- 
 hood of populous villages ; because, though a free- 
 booter in principle and practice, it suits him better 
 to forage in the poultry-yard, and to storm the 
 hive of the industrious bee, than to hunt for prey. 
 I remember when the village was in an uproar 
 on hearing that a polecat had fled for safety to a 
 wall at a short distance. Away went men and 
 boys, and barking dogs, to aid the farmer and his 
 labourer in dispossessing the cunning thief. A 
 gentleman, passing by, recommended mercy to the 
 fugitive. " Why they be varment, be'an't 'em ?" 
 said the farmer, smarting at the recollection of his 
 murdered hens and chickens. 
 
86 ANNALS OF MY VILLAGE. 
 
 Yet, though preferring to find a quarry within 
 reach, the polecat is never at a loss. Should the 
 snow descend in whirlwinds, and the frost bind 
 up the ground ; should he be even driven from 
 his usual haunts, he will repair to the banks of 
 some peopled stream. There you may observe 
 the traces of his small footsteps on the snow, and 
 other marks which cannot so easily be accounted 
 for. If you look more narrowly into the hole, 
 you will assuredly find the remains of eels, and 
 that those strange marks were the struggles of the 
 poor creatures to escape from their enemy. 
 
 Some future naturalist may perhaps discover by 
 what new art this wily animal finds a booty ap- 
 parently so difficult. 
 
 The common weasel (m. vulgaris), unlike his 
 rapacious relative, is useful to the farmer; and, 
 when half domesticated, is much encouraged by 
 him. In winter, he frequents the barns and out- 
 houses to prey on rats and mice ; during summer, 
 he wanders to a distance, affects the neighbour- 
 hood of corn-fields, and sojourns wherever a co- 
 lony of rats have fixed their abode. Yet though 
 thus capable of rendering important services, it 
 cannot be denied that, unless he is extremely well 
 instructed, a young chicken offers occasionally a 
 temptation which the weasel has not courage to 
 resist. 
 
AFltlL. 87 
 
 BufFon represented this vivacious animal as ut- 
 terly untameable, as wild, capricious, and unsus- 
 ceptible of kindness. But the Countess of Nogan 
 wrote him word from her castle of Manutiere in 
 Brittany, that he had injured the character of the 
 weasel, by alleging that no art could reclaim or 
 render him domestic : she having tried the experi- 
 ment upon a young one taken in her garden, which 
 soon learned to recognize and lick the hand that 
 fed it. M. Giely confirms this statement. He 
 also trained one of these animals so completely, 
 that it followed him wherever he went. 
 
 In looking over some memorandums for this 
 month, I find that a brood of six young martins 
 were found in a hollow tree among the Eb worth 
 woods. The boy who first discovered, carried 
 them to a neighbouring farmer, by whom they 
 were unjustly consigned to a premature death, by 
 way of reprisal on their mother, who was sus- 
 pected of carrying off a troop of young chickens. 
 Such was probably the case ; for this wandering 
 and eccentric animal (the m. martes) generally 
 fixes her abode in magazines of hay, old walls, 
 and hollow trees, whence she issues to climb rough 
 walls, or to enter pigeon and hen houses, in order 
 to devour the eggs and unoffending inmates. Her 
 countenance is fine, her eye intelligent, her move- 
 ments so remarkably nimble, that she' rather 
 
88 ANNALS OF MY VILLAGE. 
 
 bounds than walks; yet she has few engaging- 
 qualities, and though characterized as frolicsome 
 and graceful, her attachment is capricious and in- 
 constant : the chains of habit cannot bind her : 
 should her cage door be incautiously left open, she 
 hurries to the nearest wood. 
 
 The nightingale, (motacilla luscinia,) sweetest 
 of British songsters, accompanies the showery 
 April to build her nest in thickets. She inhabits 
 the groves of Oland, Gothland, Upsal, and Scho- 
 nan ; and from these her departure is regulated 
 by the gathering of the hay. She is found in the 
 temperate parts of Russia, and in Siberia, as far 
 as Tomsk, thpugh unknown in Scotland ; and her 
 rich mellifluous tones are heard in all the mild 
 countries of Europe, in Syria, Persia, Palestine, 
 and on the banks of the Nile. Strange it is, that 
 the warm breezes of Devonshire, and the myrtles 
 that blossom in the open air, have no attractions 
 for this enchanting songstress ; she never visits the 
 northern parts of the island, and is rarely seen in 
 the western counties. 
 
 Aristotle notices, that the, nightingale sings con- 
 tinually for fifteen days, about the time that the 
 young leaves begin to expand and to thicken the 
 woods. Thus he not only marks the period when 
 she may be expected in Greece, but in every other 
 country ; for so it happens both in Sweden and in 
 
Al'Ul'L. 89 
 
 England. In the former, her arrival is accom- 
 panied by the opening of the wild English daffo- 
 dil, garden-rose, and cinquefoil ; by the leafing of 
 the elm, white thorn, apple, cherry-tree, and buck- 
 thorn : in the latter, by the budding of the horn- 
 beam and willow, by the flowering of the wall- 
 flower, daffodil, white campion, buckthorn, furze, 
 broom, herb-Robert, hornbeam, spurge, holly, 
 white briony, and wood-anemone ; by the emerg- 
 ing of the feverfew, dandelion, and houndstongue, 
 from the earth ; by the leafing of the elm and 
 quince tree, and a continual humming of bees 
 about the willows. 
 
 Poets and moralists have equally delighted in 
 describing this tuneful songstress, which Milton 
 loved to introduce into his deep and touching de- 
 scriptions of the night; and most sweetly does 
 she break upon its solemn stillness. Perched upon 
 an hawthorn, she fills the forest with accents soft 
 as the light of that mild planet, beneath which she 
 sings, while the dew silently descends, and all is 
 calm and peaceful. The music of birds, as one 
 has well observed, was the first song of thanks- 
 giving offered on earth before man was created; 
 All their sounds are different, and altogether they 
 compose a chorus which we cannot imitate. " He 
 that at midnight, when the labourer sleeps secure- 
 ly, should hear, as I have often heard, the clear 
 
90 ANNALS OF MY VILLAGE. 
 
 airs, the sweet descants, the natural rising and 
 falling, the doubling and redoubling of the night- 
 ingale^s voice, may well be lifted above the earth, 
 and say, Lord, what music hast thou provided for 
 the saints in heaven, when thou affordest bad men 
 such music upon earth ?" 
 
 The common cuckoo (cuculus canorus) which 
 announces with a cheerful voice that the flowers 
 are appearing on the earth, and that the winter is 
 over and gone, appears in the fields of Britain on 
 or about the seventeenth of April, and makes a 
 shorter stay than any other bird of passage ; being 
 no doubt induced to quit the warmer regions of 
 the south, by that constitution of the air which 
 causes the fig-tree to put forth her leaves. A few 
 of the earliest flowers appear to welcome her arri- 
 val. The violet opens her delicate white petals, 
 the cuckoo-flower holds out her snowy cup, the 
 white willow and arbele are covered with leaves, 
 the young sprouts of the cedar begin to open, the 
 dark fir-bough breaks into a richer verdure, and 
 the chesnut enlarges her broad leaf. But in Swe- 
 den, where the seasons are later, and proportion- 
 ably colder, the cuckoo does not appear so early, 
 by at least one month. Here she announces that 
 the season for sowing barley and garden seeds is 
 come, that the sorrel and the birch, the barberry 
 and the ozier, are already in full leaf. But whi- 
 
APRIL. 91 
 
 ther she wings her flight is entirely unknown. 
 Some conjecture that she remains in a hollow tree, 
 insensible to the jocund invitation of the summer, 
 or the graver voice of autumn, inviting her to share 
 in the abundance that it scatters forth ; others, 
 that she retires to a warmer climate. But Eng- 
 land is one of her favourite resorts. She is seldom 
 heard in Italy, though her abode in that country 
 is comparatively long. 
 
 Her return is everywhere welcome. She has 
 no sadness in her song, no winter in her year, and 
 she seems to inspire, with a sympathetic gladness, 
 all who listen to her voice. During the winter 
 months, the note of the confiding robin is only 
 heard at intervals, or the sweet complaining voice 
 of the grey wren, unless that on some mild morn- 
 ing, the woodlark, as if forgetful of the season, 
 breaks into a song. The other musicians are either 
 silent, or have departed to other climes ; but when 
 the voice of the returning cuckoo is heard in our 
 meadows, we welcome it with a delight that no 
 other can awaken : it comes upon us as 
 
 " A sudden thrill, a joyous thought, 
 A feeling many a month forgot." 
 
 Yet it is neither melody nor cadence that so 
 charms us in the voice of this bird ; its simple re- 
 iterated note cannot compete with the rich nielli- 
 
92 ANNALS OF MY VILLAGE. 
 
 fluous tones of the blackbird, with the warbling 
 of the canary, the skylark's note of joy, or the 
 loud clear pipe of the blackcap. No ; it is the 
 hearing once again that dear voice, which seems 
 the earnest of opening flowers and bright days, of 
 flying clouds, warm gleams of sunshine, and all 
 those indefinable delights, which clung around our 
 hearts in childhood. 
 
 This favourite bird has been accused of want- 
 ing natural affection. One naturalist has handed 
 down to another, and father to son, that her heart 
 is hardened against her young, as though they 
 were not hers. Yet Pennant, and with him Sel- 
 burne's elegant historian, has cleared her character 
 from this unjust aspersion. They tell us that 
 being precluded, by the shortness of her stay, from 
 fulfilling the duties x>f a mother, she looks out for 
 a foster parent, to whom she may confide, without 
 anxiety, the rearing of her tender offspring. Thus 
 assured, she selects the nest of some soft-billed 
 insectivorous bird, either a wagtail, hedge-sparrow, 
 titlark, whitethroat, or redbreast, and with one of 
 these congenerous nursing mothers she safely leaves 
 her eggs, or young, when she departs for other 
 climes. Wonderful are the ways of Providence, 
 as regards the ever-varying instincts which he has 
 assigned to his creatures : they are not subjected 
 to any mode or rule, but continually astonish us 
 
APRIL. 93 
 
 
 as presented to our attention in new lights and 
 under changing aspects ! 
 
 The cuckoo has an herald, that faithfully an- 
 nounces her, at whose approach the meadow-car- 
 damine peeps from among the long grass. This 
 is the wryneck (jynos torquilla) called in Glouces- 
 tershire the handmaid of her successor. The in- 
 habitants of Wales and Sweden consider her in 
 the same light, and hence among the former the 
 cognomen of Gwas y gog, or the cuckoo's attendant. 
 
 The reason of the wryneck's migration may be 
 readily explained. She feeds chiefly on ants, for 
 which purpose her long bill resembles that of a 
 woodpecker's; and hence when these industrious 
 creatures retire into their citadels for the winter, this 
 active little robber is obliged to seek them in coun- 
 tries, where that stormy season is either unknown 
 or comparatively mild. 
 
 The numerous family of swallows, swifts, sand- 
 martins, and the " temple-haunting martlets," 
 welcome birds ! are now seen to hover in various 
 directions. Four species are recognized by natu- 
 ralists as invariably attendant on the present month. 
 The chimney swallow arrives first, then the house 
 martin ; next the sand-martin, the smallest of the 
 genus, and known in Spain by the cognomen of 
 mountain butterfly ; lastly, the swift, of lofty and 
 rapid flight. A few stragglers preceded them in 
 
94 ANNALS OF MY VILLAGE. 
 
 March, but the whole body are now arrived. 
 Their plumage is glossed with the richest purple, 
 and they fill the air with their soft twittering notes. 
 It seems as if they waited till the returning sun 
 began to rouse the insect tribes, and the gnat and 
 beetle to put on their annual robes, and venture out 
 into the air. First one arrives, then another, with 
 the timidity of solitary strangers, appearing sel- 
 dom, and flying heavily and slowly ; but as the 
 sun advances in the heavens, they gather strength 
 and evince more activity. When the weather be- 
 comes settled, and the insects make bolder flights, 
 the swallow follows them in their aerial journies, 
 and often vanishes in her upward course. When, 
 on the contrary, the weather indicates a change, 
 their low sweeping flight apprises us of approach- 
 ing rain. In Sweden, the swallow and the stork 
 observe together the period of their coming, and 
 cherry and filbert trees put forth their blossoms. 
 
 This is the very youth and spring-tide of the 
 year. The sweetest garden flowers open, as if to 
 welcome their return. The cherry-trees are 
 spangled over with white blossoms, while the 
 apple-trees look gayer still, with their more varied 
 colours. The fragrant lilac is in bloom, the gar- 
 den honeysuckle entwines its rich green tendrils 
 and wreaths of sweetly scented flowers around 
 the cottage porch, or little bower, and the la- 
 
AFRIT,. 95 
 
 burnum droops its golden chains in gay profusion. 
 Every thing looks bright and full of promise : the 
 heart gladdens in beholding these early births of 
 the spring ; they cause our affections to expand 
 towards them with a glow, that neither the beauty 
 nor the splendour of exotic strangers, nor the gaudy 
 bowers of summer, or of autumn, can excite. 
 
 The rainbow, too, the bow of promise, is often 
 a striking object during the present month : when 
 seen in a flat country, its most pleasing accom- 
 paniments are lost, but among our valleys it is 
 pre-eminently beautiful ; it encircles the heavens 
 with a glorious bow, and who, in beholding it, 
 can forget, that the hand of the Most High has 
 bent it ? It have often seen this grand etherial 
 arch bestride our valley, while beneath, the cot- 
 tage windows glittered in the sunbeams, and all 
 the young green herbage sparkled with the vivid- 
 ness of a new creation. 
 
 The village children are in anecstacy when they 
 see the rainbow. 
 
 " They wondering view the bright enchantment bend 
 Delightful o'er the radiant field, and run 
 To catch the falling glory ; but, amazed, 
 Behold th' amusive arch before them fly 
 Then vanish quite away." 
 
 Surely the Most High has not left us without 
 many outward signs of his exceeding -goodness. 
 The rainbow is an earnest, that while the earth 
 
96 ANNALS OF MY VILLAGE. 
 
 remaineth, seed time and harvest, summer and 
 winter, day and night, shall not cease : the clouds, 
 also, that pour forth refreshing showers, unceas- 
 ingly proclaim, that his word shall not fail, nor 
 the covenant of his peace be broken. 
 
 Rain silently descends upon the earth, and 
 when the clouds the water-urns of the firmament, 
 as the Arabs beautifully denominate them have 
 performed their assigned office, they also as silently 
 pass away. Yet from them our fruitful seasons 
 are derived : they refresh the earth, " and cause 
 it to bring forth and bud, that it may give seed to 
 the sower, and bread to the eater ;"* and it may 
 well detain us a few moments to inquire somewhat 
 particularly as to their origin, and how accu- 
 rately they indicate the change of the weather. 
 
 We know that vapours continually arise, that 
 every hill and valley, pasture, field, and forest, 
 support a great evaporation ; and that even 
 ploughed land is said to supply as much moisture 
 to the exhaling air, as an equal sheet of water. 
 These vapours constitute part of the atmo- 
 sphere : they are raised and suspended by the 
 invisible, but ever active agencies of heat and 
 electricity. The first detains them there invisibly 
 until some more powerful attraction separates the 
 union, and they again descend upon the earth, in 
 the varied forms of clouds, and mists, rain, dew, 
 
 * Isaiah Iv. 10. 
 
APRIL. 97 
 
 snow, hail, hoar-frost, and sleet. To the second 
 may be principally attributed the more splendid 
 phenomena of lightning, the aurora-borealis, and 
 other igneous meteors. And the effects of both, 
 " variously combined, and infinitely modified by 
 other agents, are felt in those currents of atmos- 
 pheric air," which are described by a sacred 
 writer, 1 * as going towards the north, and towards 
 the south as whirling about continually, and 
 returning again according to their circuits. 
 
 Cold imposes upon these aqueous vapours a 
 visibility which enables us to trace them in their 
 progress : when floating through the sky, or drifted 
 by the wind at different elevations, and with every 
 variety of form and colour, they are called clouds ; 
 when recumbent on the surface of the land or 
 water, they are denominated fogs or mists, accord- 
 ing to their intensity. 
 
 Our country people give names to the best de- 
 fined, and predict from them with accuracy the 
 change of the weather. They know nothing of 
 the systems of Howard, or Foster, of Fresnel, or 
 Gay Lussac ; but in reading the observations of 
 these ingenious men, it gave me pleasure to re- 
 mark, that the names and indications frequently 
 accorded with much that I had previously heard. 
 
 The following modifications are arranged in the 
 order of their usual elevation. 
 
 * Ecclesiastes, i. 6. 
 
98 ANNALS OF MY VILLAGE. 
 
 CIRRUS, OR CURL-CLOUD. 
 
 This beautifully curling and flexuous vapour 
 generally occupies the highest region of the at- 
 mosphere, where it frequently appears extended, 
 like innumerable banners, upon a light blue sky. 
 When its fine, and almost evanescent tails are 
 directed for some days towards the same point of 
 the compass, our villagers predict a gale of wind 
 from that quarter ; and the prediction realizes the 
 poet's adage, that 
 
 " Wet weather seldom hurts the most unwise, 
 So plain the signs such prophets are the skies." 
 
 VIRGIL. 
 
 If the weather has been fine and clear for any 
 considerable length of time, the curl-cloud fre- 
 quently appears like a fine white fleecy line, 
 stretched at a great elevation across the sky, and 
 of which the ends seem lost in opposite parts of 
 the horizon ; a variety uniformly indicative of wet. 
 
 In variable and warm summer weather, attended 
 with light breezes, long and obliquely descending 
 bands of cirrus often seem to unite distinct masses 
 of clouds. This modification is extremely beauti- 
 ful; when dimly seen at twilight, the observer 
 could almost fancy that 
 
 " Some raptur'd spirit, in Iris upward flight, 
 Had left a garment floating in mid-air." 
 
CIKM1TS OR CF3EL CJLOUID 
 
 C1B1 
 
 C*l. IX ' "I > 
 
APRIL. 99 
 
 CJRROCUMULUS. SONDER-CLOUD 
 
 Is an aqueous vapour, consisting of extensive 
 beds of small well-defined orbicular clouds, in 
 horizontal opposition, but at the same time lying 
 quite asunder ; hence the appellation of sender, or 
 separate from one another. Few combinations are 
 more pleasing to the eye : they have been compared 
 to a flock of sheep at rest, and are thus elegantly 
 alluded to by the author of Ellen Fitzarthur : 
 
 " Unclouded was the deep serene 
 
 Of heav'n's dark azure save were seen 
 
 Around the moon, soft fleeces roll'd, 
 Bright with the liv'ry of their queen, 
 
 The snowy flocks of Cynthia's fold. 
 One might believe on such a night, 
 
 Good angels choose that silv'ry car, 
 To watch, with looks of heav'nly light, 
 
 Their mortal charge, on earth's pale star." 
 
 The sondercloud is noticed as indicative, in 
 summer, of an increase of temperature ; but I have 
 uniformly observed, that it then precedes rain or 
 wind ; while, in winter, it announces the breaking 
 up of a frost, succeeded by wet or foggy weather. 
 
 CIRROSTRATUS. WANE-CLOUD. 
 
 We generally notice this kind of cloud as the 
 harbinger of rain or snow. It is distinguished by 
 
 H 2 
 
100 ANNALS OF MY VILLAGE. 
 
 its flatness, and great extension, in proportion to 
 its height a characteristic it invariably preserves 
 under every modification : whether disposed in 
 wavy bars, or streaks, in close horizontal opposition, 
 generally blended in the middle, but distinct to- 
 wards the edges, and indicative of wet ; whether 
 consisting of small rows of little curved clouds, 
 that uniformly precede stormy weather, and which 
 appear like a long streak, thick in the middle, and 
 wasting away at its edges ; or whether stretched 
 across the heavens in an extensive and shallow 
 form, an appearance which it generally assumes in 
 the evening and at night. Those peculiar refrac- 
 tions of the solar and lunar rays, called halos and 
 mocksuns, usually appear in this cloud. We also 
 notice with the poet of the Georgics, 
 
 " That when the moon appears, if then she shrouds 
 Her silver crescent in these warning clouds, 
 She hodes a tempest in the raging main, 
 And brews for fields impetuous floods of rain." 
 
 In the morning, too, if a wane-cloud is above, 
 or across the sun, there is always rain before the 
 evening : 
 
 " For if he rise unwilling to his race, 
 Clouds on his brow, and lines across his face ; 
 Or if through mists he shoots his sullen beams, 
 Frugal of light, in loose and struggling streams : 
 Suspect a drizzling day, with southern rain, 
 Hurtful to fruits, and flocks, and promis'd grain." 
 
Page 101 
 
 STAKED, HEAP OK FI1.E 
 
 C UMUI. O S TJSATX^S . TWADT C I. O tHD 
 
APRIL. 101 
 
 CUMULOSTRATUS TWAIN-CLOUD. 
 
 This kind of cloud possesses a lofty character : 
 its base is generally flat, which the superstructure 
 either overhangs in fleecy protuberances, or else 
 assumes the form of rocks and mountains. Two 
 masses frequently appear as if joined together by 
 a drawbridge, and again, as if rising majestically 
 from one base. Long ranges often seem to rest 
 upon our hills, where they generally indicate a 
 change of weather, and as frequently recall to 
 mind the vivid description of the poet : 
 
 " Pleasures there are 
 
 That pass across the mind like summer clouds 
 Over a lake at eve. Their fleeting hues 
 The traveller cannot trace with memory's eyes, 
 But he remembers well how fair they were 
 How very lovely." HURDIS. 
 
 CUMULUS, STAKEN, HEAP, OR PILE CLOUD. 
 
 This is the painter's cloud. Its exquisite mo- 
 difications heighten the beauty of an evening land- 
 scape, and often reflect a strong silvery light. 
 Those seen in the interval of showers are highly 
 varied, fleecy, and irregular, and if tinged with 
 the brightness of a " parting beam," are indescrib- 
 ably pleasing. But the most beautiful effect is, 
 
ANNALS OF MY VILLAGE. 
 
 when the sun appears to pass between them, 
 through an opening of resplendent brightness, into 
 some mysterious world of glory. 
 
 When flying before the wind in a bright sum- 
 mer's day, they also add considerably to the ani- 
 mation of the scene : 
 
 " Shade follows shade, as laughing zephyrs drive, 
 And all the chequer'd landscape seems alive." 
 
 The progressive formation of the cumulus may 
 be viewed to great advantage in fine settled wea- 
 ther. About sunrise, small, thinly scattered 
 clouds are seen like specks on the horizon ; as the 
 sun arises, these enlarge and coalesce, till at length 
 they appear as if stacked together into one large 
 pile. This beautiful combination may be denomi- 
 nated the cloud of day, as it usually exists only 
 during that period, and dissolves at evening, in a 
 manner analogous to its early formation. 
 
 The nimbus, or rain-cloud, is too well known to 
 render a sketch necessary. It is rather a density 
 and deepening of shade in the t wain-cloud, than 
 any new modification, depending upon a distinct 
 change of form. Each of the preceding modifica- 
 tions may increase so much as to obscure the sky, 
 and yet dissolve without falling in rain ; but when 
 the twain-cloud has been formed, it often becomes 
 more dense, and assumes a deep portentous aspect, 
 
APRIL. 103 
 
 which shortly yields to a grey obscurity ; an evi- 
 dence that a new arrangement has taken place in 
 the aqueous particles of the cloud: the nimbus 
 is then formed, and rain begins to fall. The 
 shower often continues till another change suc- 
 ceeds ; till this "water-urn" has poured forth its 
 contents, and becomes extinct. Other modifica- 
 tions then appear: the beautiful curl-cloud, the 
 sonder or separate cloud, or perhaps the wane- 
 cloud, is seen in the higher regions of the atmos- 
 phere, and the cumulus sails along in a current of 
 wind over the hills. 
 
 The stratus, or fall-cloud, rests upon the surface 
 of the globe. It is generally formed by the subsi- 
 ding of vapour in the atmosphere, and varies so 
 much in extent and thickness, as to be denomi- 
 nated a bed or covering. This genus includes all 
 fogs, and those creeping mists which, in the sum- 
 mer evenings, fill our valleys, and present by moon- 
 light one of the most exquisite effects in nature* 
 You may observe its gradual formation after a hot 
 day ; as the pile-clouds disperse, and one star after 
 another lights up in the firmament, a white sil- 
 very mist forms along the valleys, and sometimes 
 extends up the hills. Its greatest density is about 
 midnight, or between that time and the morning ; 
 but as soon as the sun arises, it gradually melts 
 away in forms the most exquisitely beautiful and 
 
104 ANNALS OF MY VILLAGE. 
 
 fantastic. Poets call it the cloud of night ; the 
 evening star, and " weak-ey'd bat," are its general 
 harbingers, and when it appears in the summer 
 twilight, the beetle begins to wind his horn. 
 
 " As oft he rises 'mid the twilight path, 
 Against the pilgrim borne in heedless hum." 
 
 The nimble evolutions of the welcome hirun- 
 dines are now very pleasing to the naturalist, as 
 they glance by with jetty wing, and then disappear 
 in the bright sunshine. Those of the swift, espe- 
 cially, bring to recollection the fabulous manoco- 
 diata, or bird of paradise. But who can worthily 
 describe this favourite of Oriental poets ? Gifted 
 with grace and beauty, subsisting on celestial dew, 
 glittering with the colours of the rainbow, and 
 floating on the wings of zephyrs in quest of a 
 perpetual spring. Thus is she described by those, 
 who delight to rove through the mazes of enchant- 
 ment, to gaze on the waterfalls of Elysian gardens, 
 and to recreate their labouring imaginations with 
 such excursive flights, as the mind can only be re- 
 conciled to, by a passive acquiescence with popular 
 traditions. Yet, with a few exceptions, the swift 
 actually accomplishes what the manocodiata is fa- 
 bled to perform. Independently of that period of 
 cessation denominated sleep, and the task of warm- 
 ing into life her infant progeny, every other func- 
 tion is performed in the air. The materials that 
 
APRIL. 105 
 
 supply her nursing cradle are collected on the 
 wing, when borne towards her by the summer 
 breezes, or gathered from the earth in her sweep- 
 ing flight. Her food is winged insects; and her 
 drink is taken in transient sips from the rippling 
 surface of the water. 
 
 Different individuals of the same interesting 
 family also migrate into various regions of the 
 globe. 
 
 The chimney swallow (hirundo rustica) inha- 
 bits, during winter, Newfoundland, and some of the 
 maritime parts of North America, building her 
 nest in lofty rocks and precipices that overhang 
 the sea ; but whenever a cottage or a wigwam is 
 erected, she prefers the vicinity of man : hence 
 in those countries, as in ours, the common appel- 
 lation of barn-door swallow. In the Jerseys, they 
 appear about the beginning of April, their plu- 
 mage dropping with the showers they have en- 
 countered in migrating from their winter quarters. 
 In New York, they select for the period of their 
 arrival the showery month of May, when the 
 peach-trees are in blossom : and thence they mi- 
 grate in August or September. Their relative, 
 the aculeated swallow of Pennant's Arctic zoology, 
 inhabits many parts of North America. She ar- 
 rives in New York and Pensylvania nearly at the 
 same time, and selects a chimney for her tempo- 
 
106 ANNALS OF MY VILLAGE. 
 
 rary abode, constructing her simple nest of twigs 
 cemented with peach-tree gum. 
 
 The martin (hirundo urbica) occasionally affects 
 the regions of Hudson Bay. The purple swift 
 stretches her rapid wing across a line of coun- 
 try extending thence to South Carolina and Lou- 
 siana, reaches New York in April, and leaves it 
 the latter end of August. These graceful little 
 birds are welcome guests to the inhabitants, who 
 joyfully provide them with earthen dishes, boxes, 
 or calabashes, hung on poles. In return, they are 
 the faithful guardians of poultry, driving away 
 and pursuing with loud cries, crows, hawks, and 
 predatory birds of every kind, or uttering a warn- 
 ing cry when they appear, on hearing which the 
 chickens run to shelter. 
 
 The migrations of this interesting tribe early 
 attracted the notice of ancient naturalists. Jere- 
 miah also, wishing to recall his countrymen to a 
 sense of duty, and to the near approach of those 
 threatened j udgments, which could only be avert- 
 ed by obedience and contrition, thus beautifully 
 refers to the accuracy with which different migra- 
 tory birds observe the times that Providence has 
 appointed for their removal from one climate to 
 another : 
 
 " Yea the stork in the heavens knoweth her ap- 
 pointed times ; and the turtle, the crane, and the 
 
APEIL. 107 
 
 swallow, observe the time of their coming; but 
 my people know not the judgment of the Lord."* 
 
 Theophrastus noticed, in his Calendar of Flora, 
 that this punctual bird appeared at Athens, in 
 latitude 37 25', between the twenty-eighth of 
 February and the twelfth of March, when the 
 ornithian winds blew, and the bay, alder, abele, 
 elm, sallow, poplar, and plane trees, were in leaf. 
 
 Thus ever observant of the period of their 
 coming, these faithful hirundines announced to 
 ancient husbandmen the changes of the seasons. 
 Others of their migratory brethren did the same. 
 Hence it grew into a proverb, that the kite go- 
 verned Grsecia, because his re-appearance indi- 
 cated the approach of spring ; the cuckoo all 
 Egypt and Phrenicia, because the wheat and bar- 
 ley harvest awaited his welcome voice. 
 
 " O mortals ! your greatest blessings are de- 
 rived from us." Thus sung the bird of Aristo- 
 phanes to his admiring hearers ; " We announce 
 to you the changes of the seasons, the approach 
 of spring and summer, of autumn, and of win- 
 ter. The crane points out the time for sowing, 
 when she flies with her warning voice into Egypt ; 
 she bids the sailor hang up his rudder and take 
 his rest, and every prudent man to provide him- 
 self with winter garments. Next, the kite appear- 
 
 * Jeremiah viii. 7. 
 
108 ANNALS OF MY VILLAGE. 
 
 ing, proclaims another season ; she tells you that 
 it is time to shear your sheep. After that, the 
 swallow counsels you to put on a warmer gar- 
 ment." 
 
 Thus also sung Anacreon, when he saw this 
 favourite bird advancing to that land, where now 
 the desert and the garden mingle their desolation 
 and their bloom. 
 
 " Fond bird, that swift on duteous wing, 
 Preced'st the shadowy paths of spring. 
 When first, around our changeful skies, 
 Renew'd her soft'ning lustres rise ; 
 That, social, fram'st the cradling sphere, 
 As genial breathes the lavish year. 
 Resign'd, in gloom of wintry hours, 
 For Thebes or Nilus sultry towers. 
 Like thee, within this faithful breast, 
 Affection reigns an halcyon guest. 
 Leads the gay dance of sprightly joys, 
 That life's relenting gleam employs ; 
 But ne'er from distant seats awhile, 
 Inconstant woos a softer smile ; 
 Ah no ! whate'er reverse may prove, 
 Tis mine, unchanging still, to love." 
 
 But the hir undines are not the only attendants 
 on the showery April. The blackcap, the middle 
 willow-wren, the white-throat, stone-curlew, grass- 
 hopper-lark, less reed-sparrow, turtle-dove, land- 
 rail,* and the largest willow-wren, faithfully ac- 
 company her. 
 
 * This bird is rather scarce in the neighbourhood. 
 
APRIL. 109 
 
 Their voices, too, serve to swell the chorus of 
 the groves. One has a sweet wild note, another a 
 plaintive song, a third whistles to the moon, another 
 sings from the topmost bough of some high tree. 
 If the land-rail has a loud harsh voice, it accords 
 with the stern character of her assigned locality, 
 as the soft cooing of the turtle-dove to green so- 
 litary haunts. 
 
 " That low sweet voice, like a widow's moan, 
 Is flowing out from her gentle breast, 
 Constant and pure, by her lonely nest, 
 As the wave is poured out from some crystal urn, 
 For her distant dear one's quick return." 
 
 In this glad season most of the stationary birds 
 begin to construct their nests. Some repair to the 
 holly hedge, others to the thicket; one commits 
 her cradle to the rude protection of the thorn, 
 another to a hollow tree ; a third lays dry twigs 
 together, binds them with clay, and thus constructs 
 her simple dwelling among the roots of hazle, and 
 by the side of some clear stream ; a fourth prefers 
 a shaggy bank, weaving her nest of its moss, and 
 feeding on its insects. 
 
 All these are adj usted with an especial reference 
 to the future designation of their infant brood, to 
 their own existing wants and circumstances. 
 
 If some species select the shelf of a projecting 
 rock, on which a few solitary tufts of grass are 
 
310 ANNALS OF MY VILLAGE. 
 
 shaken by the wind ; if others suspend their habi- 
 tations to the branch of a tall tree ; if one prefers 
 them open, another close ; if some place them on 
 the ground, and some on lofty crags, a further ac- 
 quaintance with their respective habits will in- 
 struct us to believe that no other arrangement could 
 so well provide for the security of the callow brood 
 or their own well-being. Nor is it less worthy of 
 remark, that the same species uniformly adopt si- 
 milar materials and a similar mode of structure. 
 The young birds of the last year, which never saw 
 the building of a nest, directed by heaven-born 
 instinct, adopt a similar mode of structure and 
 materials as their parents. One exception only to 
 this general rule exists, in the instance of the wood- 
 pecker. In our fields and forests, this careful bird 
 selects some aged tree for the cradle of her future 
 offspring. In this she perforates an opening, as 
 exactly round as if measured with a pair of com- 
 passes, and while thus employed, her strokes re- 
 sound like those of a woodcutter's hatchet. She 
 then deposits her eggs on the sweet clean wood, 
 which she has rounded out like the shell of a 
 cocoa-nut, and there she remains concealed from 
 the eye, and generally safe from the hand of man ; 
 but in the deep forests of the Brazils, where the 
 human footstep is rarely heard, the same bird sus- 
 pends her nest to the twigs of the loftiest trees, 
 
APRIL. Ill 
 
 and thereby places them out of the reach of ser- 
 pents and monkeys. In each situation, she pre- 
 pares against the dangers which she has most rea- 
 son to apprehend. But this, it must be remem- 
 bered, is generic, not specific. It results from the 
 dangers that menace the whole body of wood- 
 peckers in the northern and southern forests of 
 the globe, not from the fancy of one isolated mem- 
 ber of that numerous family. Were birds endowed 
 with scientific knowledge, their buildings would 
 doubtless be as various as our own ; but such is 
 not the case : reason is the prerogative of man 
 instinct the birth-right of less perverted natures. 
 
 It is difficult to strip the mind of experience, or 
 to excite surprise, where familiarity has once laid 
 the sentiment asleep. But could we reason only 
 upon the appearances or qualities, discoverable in 
 surrounding objects, I am convinced that the most 
 interesting architectural designs would not more sur- 
 prise us than the construction and relative position 
 of a birdVnest. " Though destitute of those means 
 by which art worketh her wonders," with no other 
 implements than their feet and bills, these uncon- 
 scious artificers exhibit the correctness of the archi- 
 tect, the ingenuity of the basket-maker, and the in- 
 dustry of the mason. With what admirable preci- 
 sion they lay together a variety of rude sticks, and 
 straws, shivers of bark, thorns, or reeds, thick 
 
ANNALS OF MY VILLAGE. 
 
 hay, and compact moss, and then entwine them 
 with inimitable art into thick and commodious 
 cradles, standing within the nests while occupied 
 in their construction, and making their own little 
 bodies the guage of their dimensions in building. 
 How neatly do they spread, and fold in the in- 
 terior, the most delicate materials, fibres, soft 
 vegetable down, and even the webs of spiders, 
 arranging every hair, and feather, lock of wool, 
 or gossamer, to prevent the wattled twigs or clay 
 from injuring themselves or their tender offspring, 
 and in order to keep them warm ! With how 
 much admirable contrivance are many of these 
 fairy wigwams thatched in such a manner with a 
 double row of leaves, that the rain trickles off 
 without beating into the little door-way : and with 
 what still greater art, does the taylor-bird and 
 oriele, in countries that abound with monkeys, 
 and gliding serpents, elude the subtlety of the 
 one, and the vigilance of the other ! 
 
 Though the construction of these citadels is 
 equally the work of both, yet all the pleasing 
 cares of life are assigned to the female : hers is 
 the confinement of the nest, and to her devolves 
 the rearing of the callow brood. Hence, to alle- 
 viate her cares, and to amuse her under them, Na- 
 ture has given a sweet warbling voice to her atten- 
 tive partner, with a thousand little blandishments 
 
APRIL. 113 
 
 and soothing arts. These he fondly exerts on 
 some contiguous spray, where he continues to 
 watch and sing, and while his voice is heard, his 
 companion rests in confident security ; but if 
 the slightest alarm is excited, suddenly he drops 
 his song, and she, crouching down in her nest, 
 listens with fearful apprehension to any approach- 
 ing footsteps. 
 
 Walking lately in an unfrequented meadow, 
 and remarking the movements of a variety of little 
 birds, that flew in and out of the bushes, where 
 they had built their nests, I amused myself with 
 observing their different modes of structure. A 
 solitary blackbird had placed her rude cradle in a 
 wild-rose, that budded forth at the farthest end, 
 and grew by the brook side : near it a little chaf- 
 finch brought up her family, in a nest elegantly 
 composed of moss and lichens, and lined with soft 
 feathers. The clods of an adjoining pasture af- 
 forded shelter to a skylark, while, on high, her 
 mate lifted up his song. In a neighbouring 
 grove, and beside the stream, others of the same 
 warbling family, the wood, the field, and lesser- 
 crested larks, had selected similar situations, and 
 built their lowly nests of grass, or vegetable fibres. 
 Their relative, the dusky lark, was far away, for 
 she prefers to place her simple nest, formed of 
 moss and creeping water-plants, and lined with 
 
 i 
 
114 ANNALS OF MY VILLAGE. 
 
 hay and feathers, on the shelf of a rock near the 
 sea. 
 
 There, also, the fond confiding redbreast, the yel- 
 low willow-wren, that loves to nestle in the ivy, the 
 black-cap, the golden-crested wren, and nearly the 
 whole family of titmice, fixed their separate abodes. 
 Each in places adapted to their different depart- 
 ments, and means of procuring food. Among 
 these, the nest of the black-cap, pettichaps, and 
 tong-tailed titmouse, were particularly distin- 
 guished for the neatness of their construction. 
 
 The latter, especially, (parus caudatus,) builds 
 her nest with great care, of moss, hair, and 
 
APRIL. 115 
 
 the webs of spiders, with which the other mate- 
 rials are strongly tied together. She then thatches 
 it on the top with the woody thatching moss, " or 
 such like broad whitish moss, to keep out the rain, 
 and dodge the spectator's eye ; and within she 
 lineth it with a great number of soft feathers so 
 many, that I confess, I could not but admire how 
 so small a room could hold them, especially that 
 they could be laid so close and handsomely to- 
 gether, as to afford sufficient space for a bird with 
 so large a family, and so long a tail, for of all her 
 kind she layeth the most eggs."* 
 
 " Reader, observe the nest within, without, 
 No tool had he that wrought, no knife to cut, 
 No nail to fix, no bodkin to insert, 
 No glue to join ; his little beak was all ; 
 And yet how neatly finish'd ! What nice hand, 
 With every implement and means to boot, 
 Could make me such another? Fondly, then, 
 We boast of excellence, whose noblest skill 
 Instinctive genius foils." HURDIS. 
 
 A similar mode of structure is also adopted by 
 the yellow willow wren, (motacitta trochilus,) and 
 the bearded titmouse, (parus biarmicus,) which 
 erect their elegant nests of moss and lichens, 
 curiously interwoven with wool, and lined with 
 the softest feathers. 
 
 But one of our most beautiful and curious nests 
 
 * Ray's " Wisdom of God in the Creation." 
 
 I 2 
 
116 ANNALS OF MY VILLAGE. 
 
 
 
 is that of the water-crake, or spotted gallmu\e,(rallus 
 porzana, Lin.) a rare bird, which is seen occasionally 
 on our pools and streamlets, among willows and 
 tall reeds, where it lurks and hides with great cir- 
 cumspection. When about to be engrossed with 
 the care of a young family, the careful mother 
 constructs a boat-shaped nest of rushes and light 
 buoyant materials, woven and matted together, so 
 as to float on, and rise and fall with the ebbing of 
 the stream. This floating cradle is then moored 
 to the pendant stalk of some tall reed, by which it 
 is screened from the sight, sheltered, and prevented 
 from being swept away by floods, or eddying 
 winds. The young broods, as soon as hatched, 
 take to the water, and begin to shift for them- 
 selves. How adorable is the wisdom, and wonder- 
 ful the Providence, which thus instruct these care- 
 ful birds to provide for the safety of their tender 
 offspring ! The spotted gallinule is called by our 
 country people dye-dapper : it swims with great 
 celerity, and is generally on its native element. 
 
 Now, also, ducks and geese hatch. The young 
 ones are covered with a yellow down, and if only 
 a pan of water is within their reach, they begin to 
 dabble in it on leaving the shell. 
 
 It is very amusing to walk through the village, 
 and to visit the farm-houses, during the present 
 month. The little gardens are not only gay with 
 
APRIL 117 
 
 flowers, but most of the cottagers, as well as 
 farmers, keep poultry. The brood hens have now 
 generally hatched, and while bustling about the 
 fields or village, with their little chirping families, 
 they afford many amusing developments of ma- 
 ternal affection. This feeling, with the pride of 
 beholding her young brood, seems to alter the 
 very nature of a barn-door fowl, to correct her im- 
 perfections, and to give her new energy and life. 
 No longer cowardly or voracious, she abstains 
 from every kind of food, that may prove accepta- 
 ble to her young, boldly flies at every creature, 
 that she imagines likely to injure or disturb them : 
 however strong or powerful the offending party 
 may be, she repeatedly attacks it. Even the 
 ruminating cow or harmless sheep, the faithful 
 mastiff or the quiet horse, who has long held a 
 distinguished station in the affection of the far- 
 mer's family, is not allowed to pass without un- 
 qualified signs of disapprobation. When march- 
 ing at the head of her little troop, she acts as 
 commander, and varies her notes continually, 
 either to call them to their food, or to warn them 
 of approaching danger. I have seen the whole 
 family run, when alarmed, for security, into the 
 thickest part of the hedge, while the hen herself 
 ventured boldly forth, and faced a fox, who came 
 for plunder. This she has done till the farmer, 
 
118 ANNALS OF MY VILLAGE. 
 
 aroused by her cries, has hastened to her assist- 
 ance, and with the help of a good mastiff, sent the 
 invader growling back to his retreat, but not till 
 he had wounded the courageous mother in several 
 places. 
 
 There is not in nature a more beautiful sight 
 than a domestic fowl, when engaged in domestic 
 duties. The placid complacency of her counte- 
 nance, the soft notes, which she utters to soothe or 
 to encourage them, the little heads peeping up 
 from between the soft feathers of the breast or 
 wing, afford a delightful spectacle. 
 
 I have often thought, while looking at them, 
 what a beautiful emblem of tenderness and power ! 
 and my thoughts have as frequently recurred to 
 One, who would have gathered, and will still 
 gather, his rebellious children, " even as a hen 
 gathereth her brood beneath her wings. 1 ' 
 
 Nor is the instinctive affection of the common 
 turkey (meleagris gallipaoo) less pleasing or ex- 
 traordinary. Our neighbours are fond of keeping 
 these birds, and one of the feathery dames is often 
 seen strutting about the village, with the greatest 
 imaginable consequence. Yet notwithstanding her 
 dimensions and formidable looks, she is mild and 
 gentle, rather querulous than bold, and affords her 
 offspring little protection against their enemies. 
 She trusts rather, in case of alarm, to her powerful 
 
APRIL. 119 
 
 voice, and to the instincts, which Nature has im- 
 planted in her young : she rather warns them of 
 approaching danger, than prepares to defend 
 them. Passing one morning through a green 
 shady lane, that led to her owner's cottage, I saw 
 this turkey in great perturbation, sending forth an 
 hideous scream, at the head of her little bustling 
 train. In a moment the young brood skulked 
 under the bushes, where they lay stretched at full- 
 length, as if motionless and deprived of life. 
 Meanwhile, the mother, with her eyes directed 
 towards the clouds, continued to utter lamentable 
 outcries. I looked, in the hope of discerning the 
 cause of her agitation, but not a single object was 
 to be seen in the blue vault of heaven, except a 
 mass of clouds that moved majestically towards 
 the south, and obscured, for a moment, the full 
 splendour of the sun, which shone obliquely across 
 them, with that downward pouring of his beams, 
 which Claude Lorraine alone knew how to imitate. 
 But when, in their farther progress, the orb of 
 day seemed to enter into them, I looked again, 
 and saw a small dark spot, that increased rapidly 
 in size, and soon discovered itself to be a bird of 
 prey darting towards the earth. The mother was 
 then still more agitated she trembled in every 
 limb; but as the danger became more pressing, 
 her courage appeared to rise, and she stood forth 
 
120 ANNALS OF MY VILLAGE. 
 
 with expanded wings, resolved to face her cruel 
 enemy. While thus engaged, the trembling little 
 family remained as if pinned to the ground, not 
 daring to look abroad, while their formidable foe 
 took his circuit, mounting and descending over their 
 heads, anxious to attack the mother, but deterred 
 by the hostility of her looks. The moment he 
 disappeared, the parent changed her note, and 
 sent forth another cry. On hearing this, the 
 trembling brood, animated with new life, flocked 
 around her with expressions of pleasure, as if con- 
 scious of their happy escape, and anxious to relate 
 the fears that agitated them. The mother then 
 pushed her way through an opening in the hedge, 
 her young ones flocked after, and I heard her soft 
 joyous voice, as if instructing them where to seek 
 for grain or insects. 
 
 In what language shall I speak of this parental 
 instinct, as displayed in the innocent family of 
 columbine? Observe a beautiful little pigeon sit- 
 ting patiently upon the simple nest, which she 
 has formed for the reception of her progeny. She 
 generally continues thus employed from three or 
 four in the evening till about nine the next day ; 
 her companion, meanwhile, amuses her with his 
 affectionate and plaintive notes. But when the 
 sun has attained to some height in the heavens, 
 and the freshness of the morning air invites her 
 
APRIL. 
 
 forth, this faithful companion takes her place, and 
 leaves her to range at liberty. When the sha- 
 dows begin to lengthen upon the grass, she re- 
 turns rejoicing to her nest ; and her helpmate 
 flies abroad to seek refreshment in his turn. But 
 when the young are hatched, she refuses to share 
 even with him, the pleasure of close attendance on 
 their wants. She remains with her young family 
 for at least three days, and only leaves them in 
 order to take a little food. Her companion, in 
 the meantime, ranges through the fields in search 
 of grain, which he treasures up in his commo- 
 dious crop, and with which he joyfully supplies 
 the wants of his callow brood. When able to fly, 
 the parent birds conduct them to their usual 
 haunts, and while thus employed, their soft and 
 joyous voices are heard from the depth of the 
 most solitary woods. 
 
 Nor is the conjugal attachment of this interest- 
 ing species less extraordinary. They generally 
 fly together, and the loss of one frequently occa- 
 sions the other to pine away. Hence the pigeon, 
 as far back as the researches of natural history 
 extend, became the symbol of affection. She was 
 also an emblem of fidelity from the people to their 
 sovereign, and of soldiers to their general. Thus, 
 on the reverse of a medal of Heliogabalus, a wo- 
 man is seen sitting, holding in her hand a dove. 
 
ANNALS OF MY VILLAGE. 
 
 Several of our neighbours keep pigeons, and 
 the lovers of rural scenery may notice a solitary 
 farm-house, at a short distance from the village, with 
 its pointed roof, gable-end, and row of dove-boxes. 
 Thither a flight of beautiful domestic pigeons are 
 seen repairing with the last gleam of evening, and 
 he, who is early abroad, often hears their soft cooing 
 voices, in unison with the ceaseless caw of a neigh- 
 bouring rookery. This farm-house is also famous 
 for a fine herd of cattle, which are generally seen 
 feeding near the little river. Constant as the 
 evening and the morning, the halloo of the plough- 
 boy, calling to his cattle, breaks on the stillness of 
 that wild spot ; and when they are assembled in 
 the farmer's yard, the merry voices of the damsels, 
 as they milk and sing, are heard at intervals. 
 This solitary farm, its fields, and cattle, often 
 bring to my remembrance the exquisite pastoral 
 description of the Farmer's Boy : 
 
 " The clattering dairy-maid, immers'd in steam, 
 Singing and scrubbing 'midst her milk and cream, 
 Bawls out, ' Go fetch the cows :' Giles hears no more, 
 For pigs, and ducks, and turkeys throng the door, 
 And setting hens, for constant war prepar'd ; 
 A concert strange to that which late he heard. 
 Straight to the meadow then he whistling goes ; 
 With well-known halloo calls his lazy cows : 
 Down the rich pasture heedlessly they graze, 
 Or hear the summons with an idle gaze ; 
 For well they know the cow-yard yields no more 
 Its tempting fragrance, nor its wint'ry store. 
 
APRIL. 123 
 
 Reluctance marks their steps, sedate and slow ; 
 
 The right of conquest all the law they know : 
 
 Subordinate, they one by one succeed, 
 
 And one among them always takes the lead ; 
 
 With jealous pride her station is maintain'd, 
 
 For many a broil that post of honour gain'd. 
 
 Forth comes the maid, and like the morning smiles ; 
 
 The mistress too and follow'd close by Giles. 
 
 A friendly tripod forms their humble seat, 
 
 With pail bright scour'd, and delicately sweet. 
 
 Where shadowing elms obstruct the morning ray, 
 
 Begins their work, begins their simple lay ; 
 
 And crouching Giles beneath a neighbouring tree 
 
 Tugs o'er his pail, and chaunts with equal glee j 
 
 Whose hat with tatter'd brim, of nap so bare, 
 
 From the cow's side purloins a coat of hair ; 
 
 A mottled ensign of his harmless trade, 
 
 An unambitious, peaceable cockade. 
 
 As unambitious too that cheerful aid, 
 
 The mistress yields beside her rosy maid ; 
 
 With joy she views her plenteous reeking store, 
 
 And bears a brimmer to the dairy door ; 
 
 Her cows dismissed, the luscious mead to roam, 
 
 Till eve again recalls them loaded home. 
 
 FARMER'S BOY SPRING. 
 
ANNALS OF MY VILLAGE. 
 
 MAY. 
 
 " May, sweet May, again is come ; 
 May, that frees the land from gloom, 
 O'er the laughing hedgerow side 
 She hath spread her treasures wide ; 
 She is in the green wood shade, 
 Where the nightingale hath made 
 Every branch and every tree 
 Ring with her sweet melody. 
 Hill and dale are May's own treasures, 
 Youths ! rejoice in sportive measures. 
 
 Sing ye, join the chorus gay, 
 
 Hail this merry, merry May !" 
 
 EARL CONRAD OF KIRCHBERRY. 
 
 Now that Scorpio has risen in the ecliptic, and 
 that Aquila, the shield of Sobieski, and the Dol- 
 phin's Head, appear on the eastern horizon, the 
 grass springs into strength and thickness, while 
 the rich yellow buttercups relieve its universal 
 green. 
 
 The corn also covers the arable land with its 
 scattered and waving shoots ; and the farmer, as 
 he reposes for a few weeks after his spring-tide 
 
MAY. 
 
 125 
 
 toil, looks forward with anxious hope to the sea- 
 son of maturity. Orchises flowers in the long 
 grass, cowslips, ragged robins, sweet woodroofs, 
 and yellow rattles, give a pleasant smell ; the 
 hedges are white with beautiful and fragrant haw- 
 thorns, whose blossoms, as in honour of the month, 
 are called May ; the dog-rose too is there, and the 
 honeysuckle with its sweet and elegant festoons ; 
 while beneath them, and along the sunny banks, a 
 variety of sparkling flowers succeed the violet and 
 primrose. In the garden borders, a train of lovely 
 strangers, the oriental poppy, scarlet azalia, white 
 piony, laurel-rose, flags, purple rhododendrons, 
 tulips, geraniums, and china-roses, supersede the 
 fair young flowers of the spring. 
 
 In Greece, the season is still more advanced, 
 and the wheat harvest is already begun ; while in 
 Sweden, though most of the forest trees are in 
 leaf, scarcely a single flower has opened to the 
 sun ; the cuckoo is but just returned, and the 
 stork and swallow arrived on her shores. 
 
 Impelled by that unerring instinct, which induces 
 certain of the migratory birds to revisit Britain, 
 several species are now seen advancing to our hills. 
 The ring-thrush, or ouzel, (turdus torquatus) is 
 already on her way ; she who frequents the high- 
 lands of Scotland, the north of England, and the 
 mountains of Wales, builds her nest on Dartmoor, 
 
126 ANNALS OF MY VILLAGE. 
 
 and affects the banks of quiet streams : loving 
 to wander in the warm and cold regions of the 
 globe, as well in Africa as in Russia, but care- 
 fully avoiding bleak and woodless Siberia, and the 
 stern inhospitable plains of Norwegian Lapland ; 
 migrating from the fields of Britain, yet stationary 
 among the Welsh and Scottish mountains. And 
 has this annual visitant no attendant in the same 
 flowery season of the year ? Yes ; the greater 
 pettichaps (motacilla hippolais) and field lark 
 (alauda campestris) accompany her flight. The 
 first preceding his female companion, as if to pre- 
 pare the woodlands for her reception ; the second, 
 chiefly affecting Wiltshire and the southern parts 
 of England, and bringing up her young among 
 high grass, or in fields of waving corn, where the 
 poppy and the blue-bell grow wild and high, and 
 the timid leveret loves to hide. With these arrives 
 the reed-warbler (motacilla salicaria) that hangs 
 her simple nest between three or four tall reeds, 
 or in the spreading leaves of the water-dock, that 
 sweeps along the coast of Kent or Sussex, from 
 Sandwich to Arundel, and among the reedy pools 
 and ditches of Romney heath. The wood warbler 
 also, a sweet vivacious songster, arrives at least 
 ten days before his feathery mates have touched 
 the British shores. 
 
 The common fly-catcher (muscicapa grisola) is 
 
MAY. 
 
 127 
 
 also here, that pleasing little bird, which is the 
 mutest and most familiar of all our summer visi- 
 tors. It is often seen among the cherry-trees 
 watching for its prey ; and as soon as the young 
 are hatched, the parents retire with them into the 
 deepest beech woods, where they sport among the 
 higher branches, sinking and rising perpendicularly 
 to catch the flies that hum below. 
 
 The common goatsucker, (caprimulgus Euro- 
 peus,) a kind of nocturnal swallow, accompanies 
 the hirundines; and when their cheerful voices are 
 hushed at the approach of evening, she makes the 
 woods resound with a loud humming noise, resem- 
 bling the sound of a spinning-wheel. Nor is Eng- 
 land the only scene of her migrations ; she is found 
 in different parts of Europe, Asia, and Africa. 
 
 Waterton tells us that this harmless, unoffend- 
 ing bird has been in disgrace with man, ever since 
 
128 ANNALS OF MY VILLAGE. 
 
 the time of Aristotle. Father has handed down 
 to son, and author to author, that this nocturnal 
 thief subsists by milking the flocks. Poor inno- 
 cent little bird of night i how sadly hast thou 
 suffered, and how foul a stain has inattention to 
 facts put on thy character ! Thou hast never 
 robbed man of any part of his property, nor de- 
 prived the kid of a drop of milk. 
 
 When the moon shines bright, you may judge 
 of this statement for yourself. You will see the 
 goatsucker close by the goats, cows, and sheep, 
 jumping up every now and then. Approach a 
 little nearer, he is not shy; he fears no danger, 
 for he knows no sin. See how the nocturnal flies 
 are tormenting the herd, and with what dexterity 
 he springs up and catches them, as fast as they 
 alight on the poor harassed animals. Observe 
 how quietly they stand, and how sensible they seem 
 of his good offices : for they neither strike at him, 
 nor hit him with their tails, nor tread on him, nor 
 try to drive him away as an uncivil intruder. 
 Were you to dissect him, and inspect his stomach, 
 you would find no milk there. It is full of the 
 flies which have been annoying the herd.* 
 
 I once saw this strange nocturnal bird in a soli- 
 tary glen near the village. He was perched on a 
 stem with the head lower than the tail, and so in- 
 
 * Waterton's "Wanderings," p. 139142. 
 
MAY. 
 
 tent was he in uttering his strange song, that a 
 sensible vibration was perceptible in the bough. 
 He seemed as if disquieted by gloomy apprehen- 
 sions, and while he looked full in my face, and the 
 clear cold moon shone upon him, his cries and 
 gestures alike conspired to entreat me to do him 
 no wrong. I could almost fancy that he said, 
 " Have pity on me, I am in pain arid sorrowful ; 
 cast not a stone at me, nor chase me from my fa- 
 vourite haunt. I have never hurt one living crea- 
 ture." 
 
 The hobby (falco subbuteo) is likewise here. 
 In Sweden, her arrival is accompanied by that of 
 the white wagtail, at which time frogs begin to 
 croak, and the snowdrop, the violet, and meadow 
 saffron peep above the ground. The grey and 
 red butcher-birds follow in the train of their vora- 
 cious relative. The woodchat also prefers the 
 month of May, and departs in autumn with her 
 whole brood. 
 
 The nests, that were begun at the latter end of 
 April, are now finished, and have received the 
 usual complement of eggs. Now commences the 
 important business of warming them into life. 
 An animal formed for liberty, delighting to fly 
 abroad in the open air, to spring from bough to 
 bough, and to fill the woods with her tuneful 
 voice, submits to confinement at the most joyous 
 
130 ANNALS OF MY VILLAGE. 
 
 season of the year. She remains contentedly sit- 
 ting upon her eggs, apparently without the slight- 
 est inclination to move away ; and if she occasion- 
 ally leaves them, to provide for her necessary sub- 
 sistence, how punctually does she return before 
 they have time to cool ! how anxiously does she 
 watch and look around, to observe if any loitering 
 schcol-boy or prowling animal approaches ! " For 
 my own part," says Paley, " I never see a bird on 
 her nest, without recognizing an invisible hand 
 detaining the contented prisoner from the fields 
 and woods, for a purpose the most important, the 
 most beneficial." 
 
 But the loss of liberty is not the only incon- 
 venience, which the watchful bird sustains. Har- 
 vey tells us that he has often seen a female almost 
 wasted by sitting on her eggs. Even the calls of 
 hunger are frequently insufficient to induce her to 
 move abroad, or the most pressing danger to 
 drive her from the nest. But at length the great 
 era of her happiness commences. Pliny elegantly 
 observes, that blossoms are the joy of trees, in pro- 
 ducing which they assume a new aspect, and seem 
 to vie with each other in beauty and luxuriance. 
 So it is with birds, as respects the enlargement of 
 their instinctive faculties, when their young have 
 emerged from the shell. They are all spirit and 
 industry ; fatigue and anxiety seem in a moment to 
 
MAY. 
 
 131 
 
 be forgotten : the most selfish lay aside every de- 
 sire of self-preservation, the most timid become 
 courageous. And what a noble principle is na- 
 tural affection, thus powerfully implanted in the 
 breast of every living creature ! How efficient is its 
 influence, in enabling them to perform their parental 
 ministry ! How carefully they lead their young to 
 places of retreat and security ! " How they caress 
 them with their affectionate notes," says Durham ; 
 " lull and quiet them with their tender parental 
 voices, put food into their mouths, cherish and 
 keep them warm, teach them to pick and eat, and 
 gather for themselves ; and, in a word, perform the 
 part of so many nurses deputed by the Lord and 
 Preserver of the universe, to keep such young and 
 shiftless creatures !" 
 
 The smaller singing birds afford innumerable 
 instances of this parental tenderness. Even the 
 diminutive wren is remarkable for the strength of 
 her attachment. She brings up her young in her 
 little thatched habitation, and attends them with 
 the utmost care, feeding, at least, eighteen of her 
 offspring, and this too in total darkness. It seems 
 as if she instructed them how to manage during 
 her absence, for they cherish one another by their 
 mutual warmth, and preserve a perfect silence till 
 her return. This is announced by a slight cherup, 
 which they perfectly understand ; every little bill 
 
ANNALS OF MY VILLAGE. 
 
 is then opened, and every petitioner is supplied in 
 turn. But as if aware that too much food might 
 injure their weak stomachs, the parent bird, though 
 she feeds them frequently, assigns to each but a 
 small portion at a time. Again she flies away, 
 and again the chirping brood sink quietly to rest, 
 awaiting in silence the moment of her return. 
 Each development of the parental instinct offers 
 a fresh demonstration of the wisdom and bene- 
 ficence of Him, who puts every creature into a 
 condition to provide for its own subsistence. 
 
 Who can observe, without delight, a timid bird, 
 thus employed in maternal duties, her small 
 feet printing the fresh turned-up mould, and her 
 quick-glancing eye attentive to every thing that 
 passes ! At one time she is concealed amid the 
 white blossoms of the hawthorn, or under the ten- 
 der green leaves of the rose and lilac, searching 
 the bark, and peeping into every open flower ; at 
 another, she is seen nimbly alighting on the ground 
 in quest of some earth-worm or insect, that is 
 creeping from the soil. Her eye has sparkled 
 with delight, her little measure of happiness seem- 
 ed full. I have often contemplated a warbler 
 while thus employed, and watched her backwards 
 and forwards from her nest, till my heart has 
 glowed within me. Is it possible, I have thought, 
 that while ten thousand times ten thousand stand 
 
MAY. 
 
 before Him, thousands and thousands minister unto 
 Him, the omnipotent Creator of the universe should 
 thus deign to provide for the wants, and to watch 
 for the security of this helpless creature, and her 
 still more helpless offspring, five of which are sold 
 for a farthing ? But so it is : greatness cannot 
 overpower, nor minuteness perplex Him. 
 
 And the same care is extended towards all : the 
 same affection is evinced by innumerable others 
 by the fly-catcher, which has been seen to hover 
 over the nest, that contained her infant charge, 
 during the hottest hours of the day, with wings 
 expanded and bill gaping for breath, to screen off 
 the heat from her suffering offspring by the wil- 
 low-wren, whose maternal anxiety has caused her 
 to throw a tuft of moss over the cradle of her 
 infant family, in order to deceive the eye of pry- 
 ing curiosity by the sober-coated sparrow, and 
 the warbling lark by the goldfinch, the sweetest 
 of British songsters and by the nightingale, the 
 most welcome of British birds. 
 
 But time would rather fail me, than the want of 
 matter, if I were to repeat all, that I have witnessed, 
 of parental love, as displayed in the fields and 
 brakes, the " good green woods," and beside the 
 sparkling streamlets of my own sweet village. 
 
 I have watched from day to day the household 
 of my little favourite, the wren. At first, a coat 
 
134 ANNALS OF MY VILLAGE. 
 
 of down enveloped the nestlings, then short fea- 
 thers were seen peeping forth ; by degrees larger 
 ones appeared on the wings, till at length the 
 chirping family were clothed, and fitted for short 
 flights. But still the careful parents continued to 
 bring them food as usual, till on one fine morning, 
 when the flowers were in blossom, and the bees 
 humming round, they invited them a few yards 
 from the nest, and then compelled them to return. 
 This they did for two or three successive days, 
 but each time to a greater distance, as if designing 
 to try their strength. They also taught them 
 where to look for food, and how to select the most 
 nutritious, till at length, when able to provide for 
 themselves, and to fly without difficulty, my little 
 wrens, as if conscious that they had performed every 
 necessary duty, left their offspring dependent on 
 their own individual exertions. For two or three 
 nights, the joyous family continued to sleep in the 
 paternal nest, but soon preferring the shelter of the 
 woods, and of the hawthorn bursting into blossom, 
 
 . . . " Light in air, 
 
 The acquitted parents saw their soaring race, 
 And once rejoicing, never knew them more." 
 
 THOMSON. 
 
 But the kindly feelings of many among the fea- 
 thered tribes are not exclusively confined within 
 the precincts of their nests. They have been 
 known to cherish an orphan brood, when cruelly 
 
MAY. 135 
 
 bereaved of their parents. One of our neighbours, 
 vexed to see the buds of his early gooseberries 
 daily lessening, and unmindful of that sacred* man- 
 date which prohibits the taking of a bird upon her 
 nest, shot a pair of sparrows, while occupied in 
 parental duties. He thought, of course, that the 
 young would perish. But no ; he heard, as usual, 
 their chirping voices, saw the little bills projecting 
 from the nest, and found that his buds disappeared 
 as rapidly as before. Curiosity led him to ascer^ 
 tain the cause. Watching the nest one day, he 
 saw some neighbouring sparrows supply the place 
 of the lost parents, and take upon themselves the 
 care of the callow brood. When we consider that 
 each of these foster-mothers had most probably a 
 family of her own to provide for, that this re- 
 quired the daily active exertion of twelve or thir- 
 teen hours, that the space passed over during the 
 daily ministration is at least fifty miles, that the 
 young, five in number, allowing to each twenty- 
 eight portions of food and water, are fed an hun- 
 dred and forty times, what an astonishing increase 
 of fatigue must have accrued to each from the 
 kind discharge of this labour of love ! What 
 feelings too, must have been excited in the bosoms 
 of these little birds ! What yearnings of heart 
 over the orphan brood, what grief for the untimely 
 
 * Deut. xxii. 6. 
 
136 ANNALS OF MY VILLAGE. 
 
 fate of those, with whom they had awaked the 
 early morning, and stripped the dewy bud from the 
 loaded bush ! What indignation towards him, 
 who for such a small offence could lay low the 
 parents' heads, and leave an orphan family to 
 perish I 
 
 " Can you really believe," said a friend to me, 
 "that all this actually passes in the mind of a 
 sparrow ?" Why not ? Here is the actual result 
 of such feelings from what else could it proceed ? 
 
 And indeed I do believe it ; for I have known 
 instances of extreme grief demonstrated by assem- 
 bled birds for the loss of a companion. A mourn- 
 ful kind of cawing was heard one evening in a 
 field near our house, and numerous rooks were 
 seen, apparently in great agitation, at one time on 
 the branches of an elm, at another on the ground 
 now standing still, and now hovering round the 
 spot, and uttering their plaintive cries. On look- 
 ing attentively through the hedge, a dead crow 
 was seen lying in the midst of the agitated crowd. 
 Their cries were evidently the expression of their 
 feelings. 
 
 While every grove and meadow is peopled 
 during this joyous month with happy families, 
 the migratory species such, especially, as arrived 
 towards the end of April are beginning to build 
 their nests. The hirundines are all in motion. 
 
MAY. 137 
 
 They require neither hoops nor bands, timber for 
 the frame-work, nor bricks to complete the wall ; 
 they collect small particles of earth, which they 
 dip into the stream, or else wetting their glossy 
 breasts on the surface of the water, and then shed- 
 ding it over the dust, they temper and work it 
 into mortar with their bills. 
 
 The martin covers her habitation at the top, 
 and leaves a narrow entrance for the door-way ; 
 the swallow prefers her dwelling open to the sky. 
 These simple nests present a beautiful appearance 
 beneath the eaves of cottages and farm-houses, 
 whilst here and there a beak is seen projecting 
 through the door-way, as if impatiently expecting 
 the maternal bird. They also affect old walls 
 and buttresses. I never remember to have wit- 
 nessed so large a colony, as at Hatton Hall, in 
 Derbyshire. Hatton ! how many solemn and im- 
 pressive associations are connected with that spot ! 
 The princely races of Peverel, of Vernon, and of 
 Rutland, have successively occupied its lofty halls, 
 and echoing apartments. Now, not a sound is 
 heard, except the sighing of the wind through the 
 aged trees, or the chirping of the grasshopper on 
 the untrod grass. It seems as if the noble inha- 
 bitants had quitted it at a moments warning, for 
 the towers are not in ruins, neither are there any 
 breaches in the solid walls. But the creeping ivy 
 
138 ANNALS OF MY VILLAGE. 
 
 throws its branches far and wide, and every pro- 
 jecting frieze is covered with nests, round which 
 the busy flutterers play with ineffable delight, and 
 appear as if constantly on the wing. The place 
 is much to be admired : it affords a scene never to 
 be forgotten, and exhibits a fine specimen of what 
 Sir Joshua Reynolds has well denominated repose 
 in painting. 
 
 " This castle hath a pleasant site, the air 
 Nimbly and sweetly recommends itself 
 Unto our gentle senses. 
 ..... This guest of summer, 
 The temple-haunting mantlet, does approve 
 By his lov'd masonry, that heaven's breath 
 Smells wooingly there. No jutting frieze, 
 Buttrice, nor coigne of vantage, but this bird 
 Hath made his pendant nest, and procreant cradle. 
 Where they most breed, I have observed 
 The air is delicate. MACBETH. 
 
 I have spoken of the rude materials of the mar- 
 tin's nests ; but how, it may be asked, are they 
 fixed against the walls ? for the resort of this favou- 
 rite bird is generally perpendicular, and often 
 without any projecting ledge. The utmost care 
 is consequently necessary in fixing the foundations 
 so as safely to carry on the superstructure. The 
 little mason clings not only with his claws, but partly 
 supports himself by inclining his tail as a fulcrum 
 against the wall, and when thus steadied, he works 
 and plasters the materials into the face of the 
 
MAY. 139 
 
 brick, or stone. But then, lest the structure 
 should fall down by its own weight, the provident 
 architect prudently resolves not to advance his 
 work too fast. He labours only in the morning. 
 Thus, careful labourers, when they construct mud- 
 cottages, instructed, perhaps, by this little bird, 
 raise only a moderate layer at a time. Yet, 
 though, consequently very slow in the prosecution 
 of his labours, the industry of the martin is most 
 exemplary, when actually at work. He begins by 
 four in the morning, moving his head in a quick 
 vibrating manner, in order to plaster the materials 
 with his chin. Half an inch comprises his daily 
 labour; and thus in about two weeks an hemi- 
 spherical nest is formed, with a small aperture to- 
 wards the top, strong, compact, and perfectly 
 adapted to every domestic purpose. But the shell 
 itself is little more than a wigwam, full of knobs 
 and protuberances on the outside ; nor is the inside 
 generally smoothed with any exactness. It is 
 merely rendered soft and warm by a lining of 
 small straws, grasses, and feathers, or by a bed of 
 moss interwoven with wool. 
 
 The barn, or as she is commonly styled, the 
 chimney swallow, from her preferring such a situ- 
 ation for her nest, selects also outhouses and 
 barns, where she fixes her pendent cradle against 
 the rafters, as in the days of Virgil. 
 
140 ANNALS OF MY VILLAGE. 
 
 With how many species of architectural design 
 has the great Creator of the universe endowed 
 those winged creatures, which belong to the same 
 species, and nearly correspond in their general 
 mode of life. While the swallow and house-mar- 
 tin evince great skill in raising and securely lining 
 the cunabula of their young, the sand-martin 
 (hirundo riparia) excavates an opening in the 
 sand, or earth, round, serpentine, or horizontal, 
 and about two feet deep. When completed, she 
 deposits her eggs at the furthest end, on a bed of 
 grass, or feathers, artificially laid together. Who, 
 that has seen this little bird, with her soft bill and 
 tender claws, could imagine, that she is able to 
 bore the stubborn sand-bank, without disabling her- 
 self? and yet, in the inhabitants of air, as in those 
 of superior natures, to will is generally to perform. 
 It is impossible to specify many particulars con- 
 cerning this little bird, as she is wild by nature, 
 and disclaims the society of man, preferring to 
 lead a retired life among the quarries, and in 
 stony banks. Several colonies abound on Spoon- 
 bed Common, and at the Edge, yet they are never 
 seen in the village, nor about the cottages, that are 
 scattered on the hills. Their nearest approach 
 to us is among some broken ground on the com- 
 mon, towards the Ebworth woods ; but this place 
 is very sequestered, and faces a wild glen. 
 
MAY. 141 
 
 How dissimilar in this respect from their con- 
 fiding brethren, which prefer the vicinity of man ! 
 Every town and hamlet abounds with house-swal- 
 lows. Our village church is haunted with swifts, 
 and there is scarcely a cottage in the neighbour- 
 hood, beneath the eaves of which, the confiding 
 martin has not suspended her cradle. 
 
 Beautiful, too, are the manifestations of parental 
 tenderness they afford, and their unwearied assi- 
 duity in providing for their young. 
 
 You may see them ranging, when the wind is 
 high, to distant downs, and sometimes making ex- 
 cursions on the water. Horsemen, in crossing our 
 extensive commons, are often attended by little 
 troops of these active birds, which sweep around, 
 and collect such insects as are roused by the 
 trampling of the horses' feet. Without this expe- 
 dient, they would be obliged to settle on the 
 ground in order to pick up the lurking prey. 
 
 Avenues and walks screened from the wind, 
 pastures, and meadows, where cattle graze, are 
 also their favourite resorts, especially if they 
 abound with trees, under the deep shade of which 
 the insects generally assemble. The seizing of 
 one of these is accompanied by a smart snap of 
 the bill, resembling the shutting of a watch-case, 
 but the motion of the mandible is too quick for 
 the eye to follow. 
 
ANNALS OF MY VILLAGE. 
 
 At this season, the male swallow watches care- 
 fully over the safety of his little companion, and 
 announces the approach of birds of prey. The 
 moment an hawk is seen advancing through the 
 air, he calls with a shrill alarming voice to all the 
 swallows and martins in the neighbourhood : 
 these immediately assemble, pursue in a body, 
 buffet, and strike the enemy, till they have driven 
 him from the village ; they even dart upon his 
 back, and rise up in perfect security. These 
 dauntless little birds will also sound an alarm, and 
 strike at any " fell grimalkin"" that ventures to 
 approach their nests, or climb the roof, on which 
 they perch. 
 
 Equally pleasing is the address exhibited by 
 the chimney-swallow, in securely ascending and 
 descending all the day long through the narrow 
 pass of a chimney flue. She also evinces great 
 sagacity in the progressive method by which her 
 young are introduced to the business of active life. 
 They first emerge from the shaft with considerable 
 difficulty, and are fed for a day on the chimney 
 top. When able to undertake a further journey, 
 they are conducted to the bough of a neighbour- 
 ing tree, where, sitting in a row, they are attended 
 with great assiduity. In the course of a short 
 time, their pinions are sufficiently grown to bear 
 them up, though still unable to provide for them- 
 
MAY. 1-13 
 
 selves ; they are then seen playing round the place 
 where their mother is hawking for flies ; and when 
 a few are collected, the nestlings advance at a cer- 
 tain signal, rising towards each other, and meeting 
 in the centre, with such little inward notes of gra- 
 titude and complacency, that he who does not ob- 
 serve them must pass over the wonders of creation 
 in a very slight and careless manner. 
 
 There are also other young tender creatures, 
 which seem equally to require, though without 
 possessing, a kind parental ministry. How are 
 these protected? By what means can a fragile, 
 shrouded, and incased creature struggle upwards 
 through the garden-mould to life and light? 
 Look narrowly, and you may observe certain acute 
 points, either on the back, or among the ridges of 
 the emerging chrysalis. These, when the time 
 for its great change approaches, enable the then 
 vigorous prisoner to push itself gradually upwards, 
 till its head and trunk emerge from the earth. 
 An opening is then effected, and a beautiful but- 
 terfly frequently arises from a dry, unsightly, 
 horny ' case. Other contrivances facilitate the 
 escape of such, as lie concealed in the bark of trees. 
 Cocoon spinners are provided with a cluster of 
 sharp points on their heads, and with these they 
 readily disengage themselves. This arrangement 
 is very conspicuous in the pupa of the great goat 
 
144 
 
 ANNALS OF MY VILLAGE. 
 
 moth (combyx cossus ; ) a creature which, re- 
 maining dormant through the winter, wrapped in 
 its silken cocoon, is suddenly inspired, on the 
 return of spring, with an ardent desire to escape. 
 It begins to move, and keeps disengaging itself 
 from its envelope, till it reaches the little opening, 
 by which it entered, when a caterpillar ; through 
 this it partly protrudes itself, then stops short, and 
 thus prevents a fall, that might prove fatal. A 
 short rest restores its exhausted strength, the 
 puparium is opened, and the prisoner escapes. 
 
 Now, also, insects of the Trichoptera order pre- 
 pare to cast aside their envelopes, and to leave their 
 watery abodes. They may be seen on the gravelly 
 beds of clear and shallow pools, where they resem- 
 
MAY. 145 
 
 ble little moving pieces of straw, or leaves, wood, 
 or stone ; some enwrap themselves in four or five 
 pieces of wood, which they glue together into a 
 neat oblong case ; others use for this purpose the 
 leaves of aquatic plants ; others, again, make 
 choice of the minute shells of young fresh-water 
 muscles and snails, to form a moveable grotto; 
 while the beautiful caddis-fly weaves together 
 light, bending, fragile stems into an oval case, and 
 in the interior of this she contentedly resides. 
 Yet, however differing in form, a silken grate or 
 portcullis is uniformly affixed at either end. This 
 is of woven silk it is not soluble in water, and 
 while it admits the aqueous fluid, it keeps out all 
 intruders. When about to throw aside these en- 
 velopes, a difficulty occurs. During the period of 
 the insects being in a pupa state, the element that 
 surrounded, could not affect them ; but, when as- 
 suming a new being, they are unable to breathe in 
 water, and the depth, at which they lie, is often so 
 considerable that their newly-acquired wings can- 
 not bear them through, how, then, is the diffi- 
 culty to be met ? A new exciting influence in- 
 clines the pupa to arise out of the water, and to 
 fix itself on some dry leaf, or stone. In order to 
 effect this purpose, the legs and antennae are not 
 confined in the general envelope ; each, with the 
 exception of the hinder one, is free to move, 
 
 L 
 
146 ANNALS OF MY VILLAGE. 
 
 though still defended by a case. The little 
 mariner then stretches forth its antennae, and 
 steering with its legs, which are fringed on one 
 side with hair, so as to answer the purpose of 
 swimming feet, safely reaches a desirable resting- 
 place. But the insect is not disengaged by the 
 effort ; much remains to be done ; the curiously 
 woven gates must first be pierced, before the pri- 
 soner can escape : in order to effect this, the head 
 is armed with a pair of hooks, resembling a bird's 
 beak, and with these it makes an opening in the 
 gates, which, though they once defended, now 
 confine it, the envelope is thrown aside, and the 
 insect emerges to a life of delightful exertion. 
 
 This month of joyous activity was, till lately, 
 distinguished in our village annals by an obser- 
 vance of the usages of earlier days. Rural fetes 
 were held ; and on the Cots wolds, * a high range of 
 table-land, to the south-east of the village, the 
 feast of ale, or Whitsunale, assembled our pea- 
 santry from far and near ; the true word was most 
 probably Yule, for in the time of Druidism, the 
 feast of Yule, or the grove, was celebrated in the 
 month of May. At this festive season, a large 
 empty barn was fitted up, and called the Lord's 
 Hall : a lord and lady, too, were chosen, and a 
 
 * From ceod, in the British language, and weold, in the Saxon, 
 which hoth signify a wood. 
 
MAY. 147 
 
 steward, sword, purse, and mace bearers, attended 
 with their several badges of office : the mace was 
 made of silk, finely platted with ribbons on the 
 top, and filled with spices and perfumes. They 
 had likewise a page, train-bearer, and jester, 
 clothed in a party-coloured jacket, and players on 
 the pipe and tabor, who conducted the festivities. 
 
 These figures, rudely sculptured on the north 
 wall of Cirencester church, attest the antiquity of 
 the Whitsunyule, a rural fete almost peculiar to 
 the county. 
 
 But this fete is now mostly discontinued, and 
 Maypole days are also gone by ; at least, none but 
 the wildest of our youth would be seen dancing 
 round the one, which is annually erected at some 
 distance from the village. With them has also 
 disappeared another of the older customs, the 
 carrying of a wassel-bowl, made of the finest 
 beech- wood, gaily painted, and decked with rib- 
 bons. I remember seeing it when a child: it 
 was presented with songs and dances at open 
 doors, and replenished, from time to time, with 
 copious libations. These ancient customs read 
 well in poetry, but they were baneful in their con- 
 sequences. A Maypole duly hung with garlands, 
 round which, 
 
 " Responsive to the sprightly pipe, when all 
 In circling dance the village youth were join'd," 
 
 MINSTREL. 
 L 2 
 
148 ANNALS OF MY VILLAGE. 
 
 was a pleasing sight on the village green; the 
 bearing of the wassel-bowl by moonlight through 
 green shady lanes, and over the common, was ex- 
 tremely picturesque, and, 
 
 " In sooth it was a goodly show, 
 When on high Cotswold hills there met 
 A greater troop of gallants than Rome's streets 
 E'er saw in Pompey's triumphs ; beauties, too, 
 More than Dian's beavie of nymphs could show 
 
 On their great hunting days. 
 
 There, in the morn, 
 
 When bright Aurora peeps, a bugle-horn 
 The summons gave strait thousands fill'd the plains, 
 On stately coursers." * 
 
 But the misery that resulted from these festi- 
 vities is only known to those, who have traced their 
 demoralizing consequences from one cottage to 
 another. Poets may call up images of rural life, 
 and associate with them much that is soothing and 
 delightful to the mind they may picture the rural 
 fete as replete with blameless enjoyment, but the 
 reality is widely different ; secluded scenes afford 
 no security for the innocence of youth, nor can all 
 that is verdurous and joyful restore fallen man to 
 the image of his Maker. Our vallies present a 
 
 * " Annalia Dubrensia." A small collection of poems, written 
 by Michael Drayton, Ben Jonson, and about thirty other emi- 
 nent persons of their time, in honour of Mr. Robert Dover, who 
 endeavoured, in the reign of James I., to revive the ancient 
 splendour of the Yule games. 
 
MAY. 149 
 
 succession of landscapes, which he who has once 
 seen, can perhaps never forget ; our cottages, too, 
 are often in situations such as poetic fancy might 
 delight to feign; and yet, amid the loveliest of 
 the valleys, beneath the most beautiful of our 
 green-wood shades, many have lived and died in 
 total forgetfulness of Him, who made them. Nor 
 is it too much to assert, that a large proportion, 
 though nominally Christian, were not less igno- 
 rant of the truths of their religion, than the inha- 
 bitants of an heathen land. I knew an instance of 
 the kind ; and scarcely twelve months have elapsed 
 since a testimony to this sad truth was borne by 
 one of our oldest villagers, on her death-bed. 
 She had lived among the woods, she said, till ad- 
 vanced in life had no correct idea of a future 
 state of the Saviour she never heard, and scarcely 
 of the God, who made her. These great truths first 
 broke upon her mind, on hearing the Bible read 
 to a sick neighbour. I can believe the fact : it 
 was asserted at a time when she fully knew their 
 value, and never shall I forget the joy and holy 
 peace, which mingled with that confession. I 
 watched her countenance, old, withered, and care- 
 worn as it was, and saw a glow of rapture lighting 
 up that wrinkled face, and a joy spreading itself 
 abroad, which would have taught me, had I then 
 had to learn it, that the spirit which inhabited the 
 
150 ANNALS OF MY VILLAGE. 
 
 battered tenement was immortal.* But the days 
 of ignorance, as respects our village, are passed 
 away. A church has been lately built, and a 
 school-house for the children. It often gladdens 
 my heart, in my early morning walks, to see the 
 young cottagers setting out from the glens and 
 vallies in this wild district, with their ruddy 
 cheeks, good-humoured smiles, and having their 
 satchels depending from their necks. " Whither 
 are you going, my little neighbours ?*" " To the 
 national school ;" and away they trip with light 
 steps, and lighter hearts. I often think, while 
 looking after them, 4 There is a sight that might de- 
 tain an angel on an errand of mercy.' For, surely, 
 if there "is joy in heaven over one sinner that 
 repenteth," ministering spirits must rejoice in the 
 training of these little children to the love and 
 service of their Maker. 
 
 The meadows are now white with sheep, and the 
 trees with blossoms. As respects the latter, it is 
 delightful to watch, from day to day, the unfolding 
 of the beautiful corollas ; to see them in the last 
 gleam of evening, just ready to burst forth ; to 
 hear, in the calm stillness of the night, the soft 
 pattering shower descending on the leaves and 
 
 * This poor woman learned to read, when nearly seventy years 
 of age. She often gratefully expressed her sense of the obli- 
 gation . 
 
MAY. 
 
 151 
 
 blossoms; to rise when the bright warm sun 
 shines through the windows, and to see on every 
 side a new creation of leaves, and flowers, bright 
 beautiful, and sparkling, as in the earliest spring- 
 tide of the world ; to think but what language 
 can embody the feelings of the heart ! to think, 
 that every little flower is the workmanship of God, 
 that it is perfect in its kind, that it is designed to 
 carry on, from one season to another, that series of 
 fruits and flowers, which He has declared, whilst 
 the earth remaineth, shall not fail. 
 
 Now also succession crops of peas, common 
 beans, spinach, carrots, and salading, with seeds 
 of the cabbage tribe may be safely trusted to the 
 ground. In the orchard, too, the trees and open- 
 ing buds should be defended from insects, by 
 sprinkling them with soap-suds, or salt and water, 
 and by dusting them with hot lime. On the farm, 
 much is going on. In one field buckwheat is still 
 sowing, in another lucern, or the seed of Swedish 
 turnips; in a third, women are seen diligently 
 employed in planting potatoes ; in a fourth, hoe- 
 ing beans and peas. The winter foddering of cat- 
 tle is generally discontinued ; they seem joyfully 
 to partake of the feast, which is spread abroad 
 for them: the folds, too, are full of sheep, and 
 the meadows stand thick with grass. 
 
 It is delightful to contemplate the beneficence 
 
ANNALS OF MY VILLAGE. 
 
 of our great Creator, in thus plentifully providing 
 for the wants of the animal creation. Corn, beans, 
 and peas, such seeds and esculents as nourish the 
 human frame, require constant cultivation ; this 
 elicits exercise, and consequently promotes health. 
 But grasses are peculiarly his care ; with them he 
 clothes the earth, and sustains its unconscious in- 
 habitants. Cattle feed upon the leaves, and birds 
 on the smaller seeds. Their extraordinary means 
 and powers of preservation and increase, their 
 hardiness, their almost unconquerable disposition 
 to spread, their faculties of reviviscence, coincide 
 with the intention of nature concerning them.* 
 They thrive under treatment, by which other plants 
 are destroyed. The more their leaves are con- 
 sumed, the more their roots increase. The more 
 they are trampled upon, the thicker they grow. 
 Even such as look dry and dead through the win- 
 ter, revive and renew their verdure in the spring. 
 On lofty mountains, where the heat of summer 
 is not sufficient to perfect the seed, such species 
 abound as may be called viviparous ; they root 
 themselves in all directions, and thus a succes- 
 sion of springing herbage is provided for those 
 wild creatures, that forsake the plains. It is also 
 worthy of remark, that herbivorous animals at- 
 tach themselves to the leaves of grass ; and, if at 
 
 * Paley's Natural Theology. 
 
MAY. 153 
 
 liberty to range and choose, leave untouched the 
 stalks that support the flowers. How wonderfully 
 is the preservation of every living thing provided 
 for ! What a beautiful arrrangement and consis- 
 tency is observable throughout the whole creation ! 
 If sheep, in pasturing, preferred the flower to the 
 leaf, what would become of the industrious bee ? 
 the humming she makes in collecting her summer 
 harvest would be over ; there would be no sound 
 of bees about the hive. Seeds must also fail, and 
 our verdant meadows, unrenewed from one season 
 to another, would be covered with weeds. How 
 then could the cattle feed ? " the flocks would be 
 cut off from the fold ;" " there would be no herd 
 in the stalls ;" and, " as the fields could yield no 
 meat,"* how could man be clothed and fed? 
 Thus are the support and well-being of society in 
 a great degree dependent on the strict observance 
 of that one law, to which the Creator has sub- 
 jected all herbivorous creatures. 
 
 During this joyous season, the whole creation 
 swarms with life and animation: various species 
 of ants are seen busily repairing the injuries, that 
 winter has occasioned to their domiciles. Solo- 
 mon sends us to these industrious insects to consi- 
 der their ways and acquire wisdom. This injunc- 
 tion occurred to my remembrance, when, on remov- 
 
 * Habakkuk iii. 17. 
 
154 ANNALS OF MY VILLAGE. 
 
 ing a box of earth that contained early annuals, 
 it was found to cover a large colony of brown ants, 
 which generally conceal themselves under stone or 
 in long grass. Annoyed by the sun's heat, and 
 suddenly thrown open to the light, they seemed 
 for a few moments bewildered, and uncertain how 
 to act : they were too numerous to retreat imme- 
 diately : besides it required more time, than the 
 emergency of the case, or their slow method of 
 communication, admitted, to discover and make 
 known a place of safety. What then was to be 
 done? they did not hesitate long. Impelled by 
 necessity, and harassed by the heat, the whole 
 community set to work. They began to enlarge 
 the galleries that formed part of their village. 
 Before noon, the work was completed. An arti- 
 ficial mound was thrown up, which increased the 
 interior galleries, while it added to their perfec- 
 tion ; and not a straggler was to be seen, where, 
 in the morning, hundreds had diligently laboured 
 in digging and piling up earth. 
 
 Few are unacquainted with the economy of 
 these interesting insects. Kerby and Spence have 
 accurately described them, and their valuable 
 work is generally known. But one anecdote I must 
 relate, because it comes within my own knowledge, 
 and is not devoid of interest. A stately lily grew 
 in the neighbourhood of a large colony of black 
 
MAY. 1 55 
 
 ants (formica fusca). Either the sweet juice, 
 which exuded from the nectary, or else some 
 little insects that harboured there, attracted their 
 attention, for numbers were seen to climb the slip- 
 pery stem, regardless, like the philosophers, who 
 mounted Pompey's pillar, of the tremendous ele- 
 vation, at which they stood. A friend, who watch- 
 ed their movements, drew a ring of pear-tree gum 
 around the stem, and thus put a barrier in the 
 way of those, who were going up, and cut off the 
 retreat of the returning ants. Both parties met ; 
 and could we have observed their countenances, 
 we should no doubt have seen anxiety and dismay 
 strongly depicted upon all. There they stood, as 
 if reflecting what was to be done. Some of the 
 most adventurous, willing to ascertain the nature 
 of the obstacle, tried it with their feet, but its 
 clammy nature precluded all hope of passing. 
 At length the ascending ants went back, and in 
 the course of a short time, they were seen coming 
 up with small pellets of earth in their mouths, 
 which they carefully laid on the edge of the 
 gum, then trod them down, and went for more. 
 In this way they laboured, and before the eve- 
 ning a firm footing was actually made across the 
 gum, over which the imprisoned ants passed with 
 safety. 
 
156 ANNALS OF MY VILLAGE. 
 
 The waters also teem with life. Bright dap- 
 pled trout, "their coats bedrop'd with gold," 
 glance merrily down the little river ; and aquatic 
 insects of strange forms and aspects, walk with 
 facility upon an element so treacherous and un- 
 stable to every other species of organized exis- 
 tence, or else dart beneath it with inconceivable 
 rapidity. 
 
 Now the water-beetle (dytiscus) steers his rapid 
 course by the aid of legs, that are fringed, for the 
 purpose of aquatic locomotion, with dense hairs 
 on the shank and foot; and now the whirl wig 
 (gyrinus) darts by with such rapidity, as to pro- 
 duce a radiating vibration on the surface of the 
 water. Some species swim upon their backs, and 
 are thus enabled to see readily, and to seize the 
 insects, that fall near them ; others whirl round 
 and round in circles : the aquatic bugs walk, run, 
 and even leap along the stream ; these are often 
 clothed with a thick coat of grey hair, like satin, 
 which in certain lights possess no small degree of 
 lustre, and protect them from the wet. Merry 
 and agile creatures are seen reposing on the rip- 
 pling surface of the water, as if weary of their 
 sport, and willing to enjoy the sunbeams ; others, 
 still in motion, look like little dancing masses of 
 silver, or brilliant pearls. 
 
MAY. 157 
 
 The mole-cricket (gryllotalpa vulgaris) is also 
 found occasionally on the banks, where you may 
 hear its low, dull, jarring, uninterrupted ditty, at 
 the close of a fine day. This ditty is not unlike 
 the chattering of the fern-owl, or goatsucker ; but 
 more inward. It is rather a pleasing sound, 
 which inspires the listener with a feeling of kind- 
 ness and compassion towards the poor helpless 
 creature, that utters it. Little is known with cer- 
 tainty respecting the economy of this strange in- 
 sect, for its habits are obscure ; yet the configura- 
 tion is such, as may well detain us a few moments 
 to consider. No creature is more admirably adapt- 
 ed to its little sphere of being ; none are better 
 constructed for the miner's toil. It works beneath 
 the ground like a field-mouse, and throws up 
 ridges, as it goes. It has therefore a considerable 
 resistance to overcome ; and for this purpose it is 
 furnished with prodigious arms, and a powerful, 
 peculiar, and appropriate machinery for moving 
 them; the shanks are broad, and terminate ob- 
 liquely in four sharp finger-shaped teeth ; the foot 
 
158 ANNALS OF MY VILLAGE. 
 
 consists of three joints, the two first broad and 
 tooth-shaped, pointing in an opposite direction to 
 the teeth of the shanks ; the last, small, and armed 
 at the extremity with two short claws. This joint 
 is placed inside the shank ; it resembles a thumb, 
 and performs the office of one, while the direction 
 and motion of the feet are outward. Thus con- 
 structed, the mole-cricket easily removes the earth 
 when burrowing, excavates a neatly, smoothed, 
 and rounded domicile, with several caverns and 
 winding passages for the reception of its eggs, and 
 often disappears in the soil while a stranger is 
 intent only on capturing it. Lest its slender 
 frame should suffer by the collision of stones 
 and sticks, the trunk is defended with a hard 
 and solid shell, which covers it like a shield and 
 helmet. 
 
 Gardeners dislike the species, because they not 
 only deface their gravel walks, but destroy their 
 cabbage beds, young legumes, and flowers, by de- 
 vouring the roots, and occasioning them to wither. 
 In Germany, especially, their ravages are so con- 
 spicuous, that " happy is the place where mole- 
 crickets are unknown," is a usual adage among 
 gardeners. Yet undoubtedly the creature has its 
 use, or it would not be thus wonderfully organized. 
 Nothing is made in vain. If it were possible to 
 embrace in one comprehensive glance, all the liv- 
 
MAY. 159 
 
 ing creatures, herbs, vegetables, and flowers, that 
 adorn this fair globe, what symmetry would be 
 every where discoverable ! what a fitting together 
 of the component parts ! what a need for every 
 thing that lives and moves ! 
 
 Troops of joyous creatures now commence their 
 dances towards sunset. The common ephemerae, 
 especially, distinguished by their spotted wings 
 and their long tails, keep up their evening revels 
 in our meadows near the river, from about one 
 hour before sunset till the dew obliges them to 
 separate. What merry dancers are seen in the 
 calm twilight, footing it away on the light warm 
 breezes, which occasionally disperse their ranks$ 
 and again as frequently unite them ! They assem- 
 ble in groups, consisting of some hundreds, and 
 keep rising and falling continually over the hedges, 
 or some low tree. Now they beat the air rapidly 
 with their wings, till they attain to an elevation of 
 four or five feet above the branches ; then they 
 descend again, with their wings motionless and ex- 
 tended. These creatures are curiously made; their 
 construction is admirably adapted to the restless 
 life they are designed to lead. If you look nar- 
 rowly at them, as they float up and down, you will 
 observe that they uniformly elevate their three 
 long tails, and that the lateral are so separated as 
 to form nearly a right angle with the central one. 
 
160 AXXALS OF MY VILLAGE. 
 
 These tails seem given them to balance their 
 little bodies, when they descend in a horizontal 
 position. The most common species may be seen 
 dancing over the meadows early in the afternoon ; 
 Kerby and Spence notice it as an extraordinary 
 fact, that the smaller, fly unwetted in a heavy 
 shower of rain. How keen must be their sight, 
 how agile their movements, to steer between and 
 avoid drops larger than their bodies, and which, 
 if come in contact with, would dash them to the 
 ground ! 
 
 Some of these insects exhibit a glorious appear- 
 ance. Viewed in the shade, they look like a 
 crowd of dark shadowy atoms, alternately rising 
 and falling in shapes the most pleasing and fantas- 
 tic ; but when seen in the bright sunshine, you 
 might almost fancy that its beams were showering 
 down those glorious creatures 
 
 " That in the colours of the rainbow live. 
 
 Covered with lucid armour, some appear like little 
 dancing pearls, others resemble silver lace one 
 glitters in green and gold, another reflects the pris- 
 matic colours, a fourth sparkles like an emerald. 
 
 These choral dancers frequently commence in 
 April, and continue as long as there is a sunbeam 
 to gladden and invigorate them. How many of 
 Nature's choicest scenes, what beautiful and sur- 
 
MAY. 161 
 
 prising sights are lost to him, who prefers the 
 crowded evening party, the ball, or concert, to the 
 sweet fresh evening air, to the woods and meadows, 
 all pranked with leaves and flowers ! 
 
 " O God, O good beyond compare, 
 If thus thy meaner works are fair ! 
 If thus thy bounties gild the span 
 Of ruin'd earth, and sinful man ; 
 How glorious must that mansion be, 
 Where thy redeem'd shall dwell with Thee !" 
 
 HEBER. 
 
 The ear is also soothed in a fine evening with 
 the wildest cadences of nature. We have the 
 murmur of falling waters, the carol of innumera- 
 ble birds, the bleating of flocks among the valleys, 
 and the broad responsive low of cattle on the hills. 
 Then the streamlet edge, and blooming thicket, 
 the green bank, and wood-walk, resound with 
 humming creatures. 
 
 " Now the beetle sounds his drum, 
 Booming from the sedgy shallow j'* 
 
 and now the common cockchafer (melolontha vul- 
 garis) flies in and out, among the brushwood, with 
 a sound resembling that emitted by a troop of 
 swarming bees : the large humble bee winds his 
 horn in every thicket ; and when in his wheeling 
 flight he is borne against the saunterer, he almost 
 
 M 
 
ANNALS OF MY VILLAGE. 
 
 stuns him with his sharp deafening note. Aerial 
 trumpets sound from beneath the shelter of roses 
 and wild honeysuckles ; and if you hear by chance 
 the strange attrition of the Capricorn tribes, (ce- 
 rambycidce,) you might fancy that a pair of fairy 
 millstones were at work in some green corner. 
 Many of the dipterous order emit a shrill, sibi- 
 lant, or creaking sound ; others wind their small 
 and sullen horns in the last gleam of evening ; and 
 myriads of gnats are sporting in the shade. These 
 are strenuous hummers ; their loud, shrill, sono- 
 rous trumpets, when heard in chorus, amuse the 
 listener by exciting an idea of joyous creatures 
 met for evening pastime, when the labour of the 
 day is done. And how pleasingly are they asso- 
 ciated with the remembrance of that elegant na- 
 tural historian, who thus beautifully commented 
 on them, when noticing their revels among the 
 shades of his favourite Puteolan. " Where,"" 
 said he, " has nature fixed the senses of a gnat ? 
 where is its visual organ ? where the machinery 
 that produces its loud and sonorous voice ? How 
 admirably has she set on the legs ! with what in- 
 genuity has she constructed every part ! We ad- 
 mire the turret-bearing shoulders of the elephant, 
 the neck of the bull, and its prowess in tossing an 
 enemy aloft, the graceful movements of the tiger, 
 and the lion^s waving mane, whereas the power of 
 
MAY. 163 
 
 nature is never so conspicuously seen, as in the 
 smallest things." 
 
 The chirping of various kinds of grasshoppers, 
 " those evening revellers that sing their fill," are 
 also heard on every sunny bank, among long 
 grass, and flowers, and from beds of wild thyme ; 
 but the sound, which of all others the most de- 
 lights me, is that, which I have often listened to, 
 in a calm summer's evening on the common. It 
 resembles a loud audible humming of bees in the 
 air, though not an insect is to be seen. I could 
 almost fancy that a swarm was playing above my 
 head ; but this is impossible, for bees never rise 
 so high, as to be lost to the observer. Yet some of 
 the insect tribes ascend to a considerable height, 
 and their humming may be heard when the little 
 minstrels are themselves unseen. 
 
 The air, too, every bush and every tree, is filled 
 with creatures, that possess the power of song ; and 
 it may well detain us a few moments to inquire, 
 whence arise the exquisite modulations, and loud 
 joyful voices of these sweet warblers. 
 
 In order to produce this harmony of sounds, a 
 passage is opened into the lungs for the purpose 
 of admitting air, and a mechanical contrivance is 
 adapted to modulate the air in its passage, with a 
 variety, compass, and precision, of which no other 
 instrument is capable. And yet, so much simi- 
 
 M 2 
 
164 ANNALS OF MY VILLAGE. 
 
 larity is discoverable in each, as may lead us to 
 conclude, that ancient artists were indebted to 
 these untaught musicians for the idea of producing 
 a similar effect, by means of different wind-instru- 
 ments. The glottis, emitting a simple sound, 
 corresponds exactly to the reed, while the larynx 
 renders it more audible as in a German flute : the 
 holes emit the harmony of sounds, but the 
 strength of the note depends upon the extent and 
 capacity of the trachea, and the hardness and elas- 
 ticity of its various parts. Thus, the convolution 
 and bony cells of the windpipe evidently suggested 
 the conformation of a French-horn, and the divi- 
 sion of a bassoon, and in each the effect is similar. 
 Then the melody of these feathered musicians 
 is modified and varied, or rendered more acute 
 and grave, by means of two appropriate sets of 
 muscles. The first are cord-like, and so con- 
 structed, as to deepen the tones : the second, ex- 
 cepting in the parrot tribe, are decidedly con- 
 strictors, and serve to exalt the notes they are de- 
 signed to modify. One relaxes the tympanum, 
 the other stretches it. This exquisite machine 
 admits of variations, alike wonderful for their ap- 
 propriation and effect. In nocturnal birds, in such 
 as emit loud cries, a single pair of constrictors, of 
 unusual length, spring from some of the last rings 
 of the trachea, and are inserted into the first semi- 
 
MAY. 165 
 
 rings of the bronchi ; while, in the cuckoo, heron, and 
 bittern, they are attracted to the fifth semi-rings ; 
 and hence the latter owe their strength of voice, 
 as well to the elasticity of these, as to the extent 
 of the tympanum. In the goat-sucker, king- 
 fisher, and pelican, this important muscle, the 
 constrictor, is attached to the second semi-ring : in 
 the woodcock, phalarope, coot, plover, and most 
 probably in all the weak-billed grallae, it is in- 
 serted into the first semi-ring, whence also flow the 
 different modulations, both the simple and the 
 complex. 
 
 Time would fail me, if I were to speak of all 
 the nice apportionings of this exquisite machine. 
 No one part is placed without design ; nothing is 
 apparently so mean, in which the order, observed by 
 its great artificer, does not shine forth- I shall 
 therefore dismiss the subject with two additional 
 instances of evident design. First, that among 
 singing-birds the muscles of the larynx are much 
 stronger in the male than in the female ; that in 
 the nightingale especially, these muscles are more 
 compact than in any other of the same size. Se- 
 condly, that no instance has yet occurred, in which 
 the faculty of singing is assigned to any chorister 
 larger than a blackbird. This kind privation, 
 undoubtedly, results from the inability of conceal- 
 ment, if the attention of the enemies of a large 
 
166 ANNALS OF MY VILLAGE. 
 
 bird were thus excited. And hence, no doubt, 
 arises the universal silence of the female birds, as 
 a tuneful voice would endanger their safety, while 
 engaged in maternal duties. 
 
 Thus is the whole creation filled with sounds 
 and voices, with song and gladness, as if the great 
 Creator designed to instruct us, that in like man- 
 ner we should pour forth the hymn of vocal and 
 instrumental gratitude. It even seems as if, in 
 reference to this, that every month had its allotted 
 musicians. The shrill joyous voices of the welcome 
 hirundines are heard from April to September; 
 the titlark's soaring pipe from the beginning of the 
 vernal season till the thirteenth of July ; the 
 white-throat commences in April, and ends about 
 the twentieth of this month ; the greenfinch ac- 
 companies the same showery season, and warbles 
 till August ; the goldfinch till September. The 
 less reed-sparrow withholds his sweet note till the 
 cowslips appear in May ; he loves the flowers of 
 spring and summer, and continues singing till 
 July. The grey linnet builds his nest, and whistles 
 on till August, then drops his song, and reas- 
 sumes it in October, when congregating with his 
 brother minstrels. All these commence in April, 
 or May, and continue in full chorus till after mid- 
 summer, while the middle willow-wren, red-start, 
 chaffinch, and nightingale, are uniformly silent on 
 
MAY. 167 
 
 or before that time. But then, even at the least 
 vocal season of the year, we have the wren and 
 redbreast, and in the fine, clear, cold October morn- 
 ings, the sky-lark soars and warbles. January is 
 enlivened with the cheerful voice of the woodlark, 
 and in February, the song-thrush, and hedge- 
 sparrow, yellow-hammer, and blackbird, pour 
 forth their songs, even when the frost is upon the 
 ground, and continue, without intermission, till 
 August, September, and October. I have also 
 heard the missal bird and titmouse very early in 
 the year : the former is called, in Hampshire and 
 Sussex, the storm-cock, because its warning voice 
 is supposed to forebode wet or windy weather. It 
 cheers the welcome February with its song, in 
 company with the great titmouse, or ox-eye, which 
 continues singing till April, and again commences 
 for a short time in September. 
 
 But May is the most melodious of all the sing- 
 ing months the chorus of the groves is at its 
 height : the thrush and blackbird, the middle 
 willow-wren, common linnet, the warbling lark, 
 the goldfinch, nightingale, and titlark, birds of all 
 notes, and every vocal power, are in song. 
 
 " Every copse 
 
 Deep tangled, tree irregular, and bush 
 Bending with dewy moisture, o'er the heads 
 Of the coy quiristers that lodge within, 
 Are prodigal of harmony." 
 
 THOMSON. 
 
168 ANNALS OF. MY VILLAGE. 
 
 Who that has an eye to see, or a heart to feel, 
 the varied beauties of creation, but must rejoice 
 to hear and see around him, so many proofs of 
 Divine goodness ? it seems as if one universal 
 chorus of thanksgiving had burst from every re- 
 joicing creature in wood and field. Thus they 
 sung, and so sweetly bloomed the face of Nature, 
 when the earth, reduced to order and to beauty, 
 was adorned with vegetable treasures, and lighted 
 up with unspeakable splendour : when the voice 
 of but two worshippers were heard in this august 
 temple, to render the tribute of vocal praise, and 
 to find felicity in the love and adoration of their 
 Maker. Would to heaven they had sought for 
 wisdom and felicity only in that love and service ; 
 then had the glow, which expands the heart of man, 
 when surrounded with the glory and the gladness 
 of this rejoicing season, never passed away ! No 
 winter would have withered the bower of his bliss, 
 no sadness ever damped his song of gratitude and 
 thanksgiving. 
 
169 
 
 JUNE. 
 
 " There are a thousand pleasant sounds 
 
 Around our cottage still 
 The torrent that before it bounds, 
 
 The breeze upon the hill : 
 The murmuring of the wood-dove's sigh, 
 
 The swallow in the eaves, 
 And the wind that sweeps a melodv, 
 
 In passing from the leaves." 
 
 M. A. BROWNE. 
 
 Now that Spring, the jovial, playful infancy of a 
 renovated world; the season of opening buds and 
 flowers, of singing-birds, of beauty, and luxu- 
 riance, has passed by, June succeeds that wel- 
 come month, when the fruits begin to ripen, and 
 every thing looks full of life. 
 
 Very pleasant is the early morning walk through 
 
 " Our populous solitudes of birds and bees, 
 And fairy-form'd, and many-coloured things/' 
 
 when the meadows are sparkling with dew, and 
 light mists rolling from off the hills, discover the 
 
170 ANNALS OF MY VILLAGE. 
 
 streamlets, that leap glittering into sight, and 
 the bright flowers that open on their margins. 
 
 Very pleasant, too, it is, in the fresh cool even- 
 ing, to climb that old grey mount, which rises 
 westward of the village, whose ample brow com- 
 mands a mingling scene of streams and woodlands, 
 village-spires, green hills, and vallies. This 
 ancient mount was once a rampart of iron war. 
 Ostorius is said to have occupied it, and the fierce 
 Earl Godwin lay there with his army : there, too, 
 Queen Margaret halted in her rapid march to the 
 bloody field of Tewkesbury, and ill-fated Charles 
 rested after the siege of Gloucester ; but now a 
 few sheep graze tranquilly along the ramparts, 
 and wild flowers grow beside the trenches. This 
 mount is situated at the verge of a wild common, 
 rising in a gentle acclivity from the vale below. 
 It is such as might have furnished Walter Scott 
 with the first idea of his haunted circle, where 
 Marmion encountered the spectre knight, and 
 heard the clang of unearthly armour. But this 
 fair spot is haunted by no ungentler sprites than 
 fairies, if the legends of the village may be 
 credited ; nor is any sound heard there except the 
 sighing of the wind through the tufts of withered 
 grass, or the pealing of village-bells on a Sabbath- 
 day, coming up from the low country. Now and 
 then, the heavy creaking of a waggon grates upon 
 
JUNE. 171 
 
 the ear, when returning from the stone quarries, 
 of which there are several in view ; the bleating 
 of sheep is also heard across the common, and on 
 high the cheerful song of the wakeful lark ; but 
 these are the only sounds that break upon the 
 stillness of the place ; and they, as Cowper beau- 
 tifully observes, are such as silence delights to hear. 
 
 I loved that spot from my early childhood. It 
 was my greatest joy to watch the morning mists, 
 as they hastened, chased by the sun-beams, across 
 the vallies : or, in the stillness of a calm summer's 
 evening, to observe the glorious sun shedding his 
 parting beams across the broad expanse of the 
 Severn, that rolls a pomp of waters along the 
 richly wooded vale of Evesham, while in the dis- 
 tance, bold Malvern, and further still, the blue 
 mountains of Merionethshire, were gilded with a 
 softened light. But now, I love that spot, as I 
 never loved it before. For there I sit, on one of 
 the old trenches, and look down on the lovely 
 scene not exulting, as the traveller of Goldsmith, 
 in a certain feeling of proud independence, but 
 because I can see beneath me cottages and beech- 
 woods, meadows covered with flocks, and fields, 
 in which the life and business of husbandry is 
 going on. 
 
 During this joyous month, the scene is inde- 
 scribably pleasing. He who is much abroad in 
 
ANNALS OF MY VILLAGE. 
 
 the grey morning, may hear the mowers whet 
 their scythes with the earliest clarion of the wake- 
 ful cock. In a few hours, when the sun is high 
 and warm, the haymakers succeed them, and 
 often in such troops, that it seems as if the whole 
 population of the village had turned out to the 
 pleasant labours of the hay-field. Grey-headed 
 old men are there, the grandmother, and all her 
 bairns. The youngest roll on the sweet grass, 
 and those who have just strength to handle the 
 long rake, mimic the sturdy labours of their 
 parents, and draw the gathering load along the 
 sward. Meanwhile, the hay is thrown abroad, 
 then raked into lengthened lines ; now the green 
 grass appears, and wind-cocks rise in gay order 
 along the meadow. The next day, and perhaps 
 the third, they are thrown abroad again ; and he 
 who sits on one of the time-worn intrenchments of 
 my favourite mount, may learn from the creaking of 
 the waggon, as it winds up the steep, stony lane, 
 from the old grey farm in the valley, that these 
 pleasant labours are nearly over. The waggon is 
 quickly filled, and then unloaded on a strong 
 foundation of wattled boughs ; as it rises by de- 
 grees, one labourer treads down the hay, others 
 throw it up to him, till at length a loud re- 
 joicing shout awakens the echo far and near, and 
 announces that the work is done. 
 
JUNE. 173 
 
 June is also the shearing month. Beneath the 
 southern declivity of the same old mount, a green 
 meadow faces the morning sun ; a deep belt of 
 aged trees keeps off the sharp east wind, and near 
 the centre a pond of clear running water is sup- 
 plied by a little streamlet, that comes leaping and 
 sparkling from a near cliff. This is a general 
 shearing place, and thither the woolly people are 
 driven in turn from the neighbouring farms. 
 
 " By men, and boys, and dogs, 
 Compell'd, to where that mazy-running brook 
 Forms a deep pool ; this bank abrupt and high, 
 And that fair spreading in a pebbled shore. 
 Urg'd to the giddy brink ; much is the toil, 
 The clamour much of men, and boys, and dogs, 
 Ere the soft fearful people to the flood 
 Commit their woolly sides. And oft the swain, 
 On some impatient seizing, hurls them in : 
 Embolden'd then, nor hesitating more, 
 Fast, fast they plunge amid the flashing wave, 
 And, panting, labour to the farthest shore. 
 Repeated this, till deep the well-wash'd fleece 
 Has drunk the flood, and from his lively haunt 
 The trout is banish'd by the sordid stream ; 
 Heavy, and dripping, to the breezy brow 
 Slow move the harmless race ; where, as they spread 
 Their swelling treasures to the sunny ray, 
 Inly disturb'd, and wondering what this wild 
 Outrageous tumult means ; their loud complaints 
 The country fill, and toss'd from rock to rock, 
 Incessant bleatings run around the hills. 
 At last, of snowy white, the gather'd flocks 
 Are in the wattled pen innumerous press'd : 
 Hesid above head, andrang'd in lusty rows, 
 
ANNALS OF MY VILLAGE. 
 
 The shepherds sit, and whet the sounding shears, 
 Meanwhile, their joyous task goes on apace. 
 Some mingling stir the melted tar ; and some 
 Deep on the new-shorn vagrant's heaving side, 
 To stamp his master's cypher ready stand ; 
 Others the unwilling wether drag along ; 
 And, glorying in his might, the sturdy boy 
 Holds by the twisted horns th' indignant ram. 
 Behold, where bound, and of his robes bereft 
 By needy man, that all-depending lord, 
 How meek, how patient, the mild creature lies ! 
 What softness in its melancholy face, 
 What dumb complaining innocence appears ! 
 Fear not, ye gentle tribes, 'tis not the knife 
 Of horrid slaughter, that is o'er you wav'd ; 
 No, 'tis the tender swain's well-guided shears, 
 Who having now, to pay his annual care, 
 Borrow'd your fleece, to you a cumbrous load, 
 Will send you bounding to your hills again." 
 
 THOMSON. 
 
 To this a scene succeeds, that may well call 
 forth the tenderest feelings towards these innocent 
 and useful creatures. While the mothers are 
 being shorn, the lambs are kept in separate folds ; 
 when both are released, it is delightful to witness, 
 as a modern writer beautifully observes, the cor- 
 rect knowledge which they mutually retain of each 
 other's voices : to hear the particular bleating of 
 the mother, just escaped from the shears, the re- 
 sponsive call of the lamb, skipping at the same 
 moment to meet her, its startled attitude at the 
 first sight of her altered appearance, and the re- 
 assured gambol at her repeated voice and well- 
 
JUNE. 175 
 
 known smell. He who observes these harmless 
 creatures when thus engaged, will not refuse them 
 as great a share of intelligence as their ancient 
 subjugation, extreme delicacy, and consequent ha- 
 bitual dependence on man, will allow. 
 
 Here also may be realized that assemblage of 
 sights and sounds, which St. Pierre rather desired, 
 than expected, to combine in one small spot of 
 ideal beauty. 
 
 Cows are grazing tranquilly in the meadows ; 
 and in one of those green pastures, which recall to 
 mind the beautiful and pastoral description of the 
 Psalmist, a flock of sheep is seen resting beside 
 a stream, which shines out at intervals in its shady 
 course. Several fine horses range in a consider- 
 able paddock ; and some goats climb a steep ac- 
 clivity on its eastern border, shaded with juniper 
 and fern ; hogs rake in a morass ; and from all 
 quarters turkies, geese, ducks, and fowls, come 
 trooping at the well-known call of the farmer's 
 wife, as she throws around the scattered grain from 
 her basket. Rapid pigeons hasten to share the 
 common bounty ; and in the well-stocked garden 
 a range of bee-hives pours forth its humming 
 population to the labours of the day. Thus they 
 feed and ply their pleasant toils, one on marshy 
 grounds, another in the sunny meadows, a third to 
 collect the scattered seeds, a fourth to nestle in the 
 
176 ANNALS OF MY VILLAGE. 
 
 flowers, and gather a tribute from every open cup, 
 till with the last gleam of evening, while some lie 
 down on the grass, others return to the habitation 
 of their master with bleatings and cries of joy, 
 bringing back the delicious produce of the vege- 
 table world, transformed into honey, milk and 
 cream. 
 
 This, too, is the season for hiving bees. Seated 
 on the same old mount, with which my history of 
 this fair month commenced, I have often heard 
 the loud ringing of a warming-pan from some 
 near cottage, or the farmer's garden in the valley. 
 This, as in the days of Virgil, is designed to drive 
 the adventurous colony to shelter. 
 
 " For when thou seest a swarming crowd arise, 
 That sweep aloft, and darken all the skies, 
 The motions of their hasty flight attend, 
 For know to floods, or woods, their hasty march they hend. 
 Then melfoil beat, and honeysuckles pound, 
 With these alluring savours strew the ground, 
 And mix with tinkling hrass, the cymbal's droning sound." 
 
 GEORGICS, iv. v. 55. 147. 
 
 When the weather is warm and settled, bees 
 often swarm in May, but more frequently in the 
 early part of June, especially on these windy hills. 
 The colonies principally consist of young bees, 
 headed by a queen, whom they instinctively follow. 
 Left to themselves, they would select an hollow 
 tree, or some cavernous retreat ; but man is ever 
 
JUNE. 177 
 
 on the alert to take advantage of their emigration, 
 he provides them with a dwelling, and their honey 
 is his reward. 
 
 These industrious creatures faithfully indicate 
 the changes of the weather. If a shower ap- 
 proaches, they fly quickly to their hives ; if they 
 wander far from home, and do not return till late 
 in the evening, the following day will be fine ; if 
 they remain near their hives, and are seen fre- 
 quently going and returning, although no indica- 
 tions of wet should be discoverable, clouds will 
 soon arise, and rain come on. 
 
 " How much beneficence and wisdom," I have 
 often thought, " are discoverable in the structure 
 of that industrious creature ! Her food is the 
 nectar of flowers, a drop of syrup lodged deep in 
 the corolla, in the recesses of the petals, or in the 
 neck of a monopetalous globe. Into these re- 
 cesses she thrusts the narrow pump appended to 
 her head, through the cavity of which she sucks 
 up the precious fluid. This pump resembles a 
 long tube : it is composed of two pieces connected 
 by a joint, for if constantly extended, it would be 
 too much exposed to accidental injuries. We find 
 accordingly, that it is doubled up, by means of the 
 joint, when not in use ; and that it lies securely 
 under a scaly penthouse. It answers also the pur- 
 pose of a mouth, for the insect has no other ; and 
 
 K 
 
178 
 
 ANNALS OF MY VILLAGE. 
 
 it is well adapted for collecting her proper nutri- 
 ment ; yet it is still so slender and so yielding, that 
 though the harmless plunderer rifles the sweets, she 
 leaves the flowers uninjured. The ringlets, of which 
 her proboscis is composed, and the muscles that 
 extend and contract it, form so many microscopic 
 wonders: how admirable too is the agility, with 
 which it is moved, the suitableness of the structure 
 to the use, of the means to the end, and the wisdom 
 and the fitness discoverable in every part ! 
 
 But this well-constructed instrument differs in 
 different species. It seems to be the will of the 
 Deity, continually to vary the wonders of crea- 
 tion. In some butterflies, it is coiled up, when not 
 actually in use, like a watch-spring ; in others, the 
 proboscis, tongue, or pump, is shut up in a sharp- 
 pointed sheath, which sheath, being of a firmer 
 texture than the proboscis, and sharp at the point, 
 pierces the substance, that contains its food, and 
 then opens within the puncture, that the juice-ex- 
 tracting pump may readily perform its office. 
 
 Such are the rural sights and sounds, the mi- 
 nuter beauties of creation, the wisdom and bene- 
 ficence, that meet the ear and the eye, beneath, 
 around, and on the summit of Ostorius's ancient 
 mount. 
 
 The sweet scent of the new-made hay is also 
 borne towards it on the evening breeze, with a re- 
 
JUNE 1 79 
 
 freshing odour; and Thomson's fullest gale of 
 joy ascends from the richer perfume of the bean 
 and clover fields, that lie towards the village. 
 
 That village, reader, of which I have so fre- 
 quently spoken, stands on the side of two adja- 
 cent hills, and partly fills the little valley between 
 them. It is sheltered from the sharp east wind by 
 a beautiful sweep of extensive beech woods, and 
 skirted by a wild heath. 
 
 Deep narrow valleys, and high hills crowned 
 with beech woods, are the general characteristics 
 of the neighbourhood. On either side the valleys 
 are breaks of lawn, and thicket, and groups of 
 noble trees, all footed and entangled with briars 
 and fretful herbs : this general wildness and va- 
 riety are delightfully contrasted with the cottages 
 that extend up the sides, and those neat gardens 
 and enclosures, which often recall to mind the vivid 
 description of the poet. 
 
 " Behold yon fences form'd of sallow trees 
 Are fraught with flowers, the flowers are fraught with bees, 
 The busy bees with a soft murm'ring strain 
 Invite to gentle sleep the lab'ring swain : 
 While from the neighb'ring hills, with rural songs, 
 The mower's voice the pleasing dream prolongs." 
 
 VIRGIL. 
 
 Our own beautiful village rises in one of the 
 most fertile of the valleys ; and in that, as in the 
 others, we have the rich meadow, clear trout 
 
180 ANNALS OF MY VILLAGE. 
 
 stream, and wooden bridge, high aspiring elms, 
 crowding cottages, and green flowery lanes, with 
 a view of distant hamlets, towns, and spires, half 
 concealed among the trees. 
 
 A geologist will tell you, that these valleys were 
 originally formed by the receding waters of the 
 deluge, when they fled at the rebuke of the Most 
 High from their resting-place above the hills, 
 when they went down into the place, which he had 
 formed for them. Certain it is, that they all 
 open towards the Severn ; that their fossil exuviae, 
 and the appearance of their quarries, strongly 
 suggest that an ocean once rolled above them. 
 
 Of the aborigines we know nothing. They 
 were most probably hunters or fishers. To these 
 rough arts might have succeeded the keeping of 
 flocks and herds : then the cultivation of land, 
 which generates barter and the division of la- 
 bour. In this state the Romans found them, and 
 Caesar briefly notices, that their manners cannot 
 be traced beyond the nations of Lybia, described 
 by Herodotus. He speaks of them, as modern 
 writers do of the rude inhabitants of Zealand and 
 New South Wales 
 
 It appears from the earliest British sepulchres, 
 lately discovered at Avening and Edgeworth, that 
 these hardy people chiefly resided on the hills, 
 as wild fowl were numerous, and much sought 
 
JUNE. 181 
 
 after; and what are now our richly cultivated 
 vales, were then most probably mere morasses. 
 When those morasses were dried up, we may con- 
 jecture that the inhabitants gladly abandoned the 
 high windy hills, to take shelter along their sides ; 
 that they disputed these wild and woody districts 
 with bears, wolves, and wild cats, is also probable, 
 as an extensive sweep of woodland, near the village, 
 still bears the name of CatVwood ; and we know 
 that bears and wolves exercised the prowess of our 
 hardy ancestors. At this period of their history, 
 they were called Dobuni in the British, and Roman 
 annals, a term supposed to be derived from the Bri- 
 tish word Duffen, because they resided in places, that 
 lay low, and were sunk under hills. Ptolemy calls 
 them Dobuni, and makes Corinium their city. In 
 after times, they were designated by the term Wiccii, 
 a term which has exercised the skill of etymolo- 
 gists. The learned Carte, who diligently sifted 
 the remains of British antiquity, ingeniously con- 
 jectures, that as their wealth principally consisted 
 in herds of swine, which they pastured on the 
 beech-mast of those forests, that anciently ex- 
 tended through this, and the adjacent counties, the 
 province itself might hence be denominated Huic- 
 ca, from Hukh, the British word for porcus, or in 
 Latin Wiccia, and its people Wiccii. 
 
 Few neighbourhoods are more rich in stirring 
 
ANNALS OF MY VILLAGE. 
 
 recollections, connected with the wildest periods of 
 our history, than the one, that has given rise to 
 these remarks. The most beautiful of our valleys 
 is called Dudcombe, or the vale of the dead ; be- 
 cause there a great slaughter of the Danes took 
 place. Then we have Woeful-Danes Bottom, at 
 the distance of about six miles, with its little 
 stream, wooden bridge, and green sloping hills, 
 where a battle was fought between Wolphang and 
 Uffa. Rampires, fortifications, and large entrench- 
 ments, are also visible in various directions, the 
 work of our Saxon ancestors to check the incur- 
 sions of those terrible robbers. 
 
 When the Dobuni fell under the Roman yoke, 
 they largely shared in the military and civil re- 
 gime of the conquerors, and their country was in- 
 tersected with four great military roads. One of 
 these, the Ikenild Street, leads from Cirencester to 
 Aust ; another, the Irmin Street, which goes from 
 Southampton, through Cirencester and Gloucester, 
 to Caerleon, lies about six miles distant from our 
 village ; the Fosse-way crosses the road from Tet- 
 bury to Malmsbury, and the Devizes, and after de- 
 scending the hill, fords a small stream, that runs 
 through a well-wooded and beautifully green val- 
 ley, and forsakes the county at Brokenborough. 
 Roman money, and the foundations of ancient 
 buildings, have been discovered on its sides. 
 
JUNE. 183 
 
 The Akeman Street leads immediately from 
 Cirencester to the end of the wolds. It then tra- 
 verses the turnpike-road from Tetbury to Chave- 
 nage-green, descends into Lasborough vale with a 
 kind of sweep, and winds up the opposite hill, 
 having, as usual, tumuli on either side. It after- 
 wards passes the enclosure by the edge of the val- 
 ley, in which the Bagpath village is situated, tend- 
 ing towards a vast tumulus on the brow, of the 
 hill, and the ancient station at Lidney. 
 
 From Lidney, all further trace of this very an- 
 cient road is lost ; but Mr. Leman ingeniously 
 conjectures that it communicates with the via 
 Julia at Caerwent. 
 
 These great roads opened a constant communi- 
 cation with the other civitates. Roman magis- 
 trates traversed them in their progress through 
 the several colonies and cities, and, lest the army 
 should be distressed for provisions, garrisons, or 
 as they were termed in latter ages, stationes agra- 
 rice, were erected at prescribed distances. The 
 neglect of these was the greatest known reproach 
 to Roman generals; and it was under the pro- 
 tection of such officers ? that commerce found its 
 way to the camp. Cirencester was the metro- 
 polis of this portion of the empire, the resort of 
 rank, wealth, and fashion. Gloucester was a great 
 
184 ANNALS OF MY VILLAGE. 
 
 military station, with peculiar advantages for com- 
 merce ; and the hills above the Severn were posi- 
 tions of strength and consequence. The surround- 
 ing country was much peopled with Romans and 
 Romanized Britons; the remains of their baths 
 and villas are even now discovered, and tessellated 
 pavements often point out the site of ruined 
 mansions, amid the wildest and most romantic 
 scenery. 
 
 The antiquary surveys them with emotions of 
 deep interest, and a naturalist may certainly be 
 excused, if, while gathering a favourite flower from 
 the site of Saxon mounds, or off the ruin of some 
 fane or villa, he has wandered from his subject, to 
 retrace a portion of that history, which is so deeply 
 interwoven with the woods and valleys of his na- 
 tive village. 
 
 But the beech-woods constitute the grace of our 
 village. Standing singly, or in groups, the beech 
 is a noble tree, and none are more beautiful in 
 parks or grounds, as they throw out branches 
 regularly, and droop them almost to the root. 
 Yet they are sometimes clear of boughs to a con- 
 siderable height. In the vale of Dudcombe, espe- 
 cially, and as you follow a narrow winding path 
 from the Queen's cottage, near the Roman villa, 
 their grey smooth trunks, extending as far as the 
 
JUNE. 185 
 
 eye can reach, convey an idea of boundless soli- 
 tude and interminable shade. But perhaps the 
 finest specimens are in Standish Park,* on that 
 bold calcareous declivity which commands an ex- 
 tensive view of a rich vale country, watered by 
 the Severn. Thus situated, open to the sun and 
 air, and in a favourable soil, their dimensions are 
 gigantic, and their appearance extremely pic- 
 turesque. 
 
 We have also many of Grey's old nodding 
 beeches, with their fantastic roots, and twisted 
 boughs. At certain intervals of time, the wood- 
 cutters go through their respective districts, and 
 mark such young trees as require moving, which 
 they cut off at about four or five inches from the 
 root. If this be done with a saw, the tree never 
 revives, all the sap vessels are thrown open, and 
 the rain soaking in destroys them ; if with a 
 hatchet, scions spring up on either side. Two, or 
 more stately trees are thus frequently nourished 
 by one root ; but if any check is given, or the 
 saplings are again removed, the next shoots be- 
 come dwarfish, and wreathe in the most fantastic 
 manner. On the tortuous boughs of one, you 
 may find a seat close to the ground ; the twisted 
 branches of another afford a shelter from wind and 
 
 * About four miles distant from the village, the property of 
 Lord Sherborne. 
 
186 
 
 ANNALS OF MY VILLAGE, 
 
 rain; sometimes a range of mossy seats surprise 
 you in the midst of pathless woods, and I once 
 remember to have found a group of stunted beech 
 trees, so closely woven together, that the large 
 cattle which browsed upon them were unable to 
 force a passage. The interior was about the size 
 of a small apartment, and what might have been 
 called a door-way, led into it : thither the sheep 
 would run for shelter, if alarmed by the barking 
 of a dog ; and he, who looked through the opening 
 in hot sultry weather, might see it nearly filled 
 with those innocent creatures. But the most 
 curious of these picturesque beeches is in a narrow 
 lane leading from the Cheltenham-road to the 
 hamlet of Paradise. Twenty-five separate stems 
 spring apparently from one root, which wreathes 
 fantastically over a steep scarry bank. I have 
 carefully examined that beech, but have never 
 been able to satisfy myself whether it is one single 
 tree, or two grown together the latter I rather 
 think to be the case. 
 
 This curious specimen assimilates in character, 
 though not in size, with a majestic beech on an 
 island of the lake Wetter, and about the farthest 
 northern range of that kind of forest tree. It was 
 called the twelve apostles, from its dividing into 
 as many great stems, and bore on its bark the 
 names of several distinguished visitors, with those 
 

 
JUNE, 187 
 
 of Charles XI. and XII. of Sweden, and Queen 
 Eleonora. 
 
 The custom of thus carving favourite names on 
 its even and silvery bark, originated, probably, in 
 the simplicity of nature, and consequently must 
 have been common to all ages. " A man haunts 
 the forest, that abuses our young trees with carv- 
 ing ' Rosalind 1 upon the bark," says the great 
 dramatic poet ; and Virgil too, alludes to this 
 custom as common in his time. We remember 
 some magnificent specimens among our woods, and 
 in the dingles, that bore inscribed both gentle sen- 
 timents and names. One of these memorial trees 
 was cut down a few years since; it was a noble 
 specimen, and stood singly, with a peculiarly soft 
 and pleasing foliage ; the branches were numerous 
 and spreading, and aspired in airy lightness above 
 the general mass. How justly might that beau- 
 tiful tree have appealed to the remorseless wood- 
 cutter, in the language of our favourite Campbell. 
 
 " Thrice twenty summers I have stood 
 In bloomless, fruitless solitude 
 Since childhood, in my rustling bower, 
 First spent its sweet and sportive hour- 
 Since youthful lovers in my shade, 
 Their vows of truth and rapture paid ; 
 And on my trunk's surviving frame, 
 Carv'd many a long forgotten name. 
 Oh ! by the vows of gentle sound, 
 First breath'd upon this sacred ground, 
 
188 ANNALS OF MY VILLAGE. 
 
 By all that love hath whisper'd here, 
 Or beauty heard, with ravish'd ear, 
 As love's own altar honour me 
 Spare, woodman, spare the beechen tree." 
 
 Though the beech is naturally large and beau- 
 tiful, no verdure will spring beneath its shade. 
 The wood is brittle, soon decays in air, but lasts 
 in water, and is principally used for tool handles, 
 planes, mallets, chairs, and bedsteads. It burns 
 readily, and affords a large quantity of potash ; 
 the smaller branches are made into charcoal, and 
 furnish a considerable quantity for the Birming- 
 ham market. Nor are the leaves without their 
 use. If gathered in the autumn, and before they 
 are injured by the frost, they are preferable to 
 either straw, or chaff for stuffing mattresses, and 
 last for seven or eight years. 
 
 Insects of various descriptions find upon the 
 leaves and bark a ready supply of nourishment. 
 
 That species of caterpillars also, called geome- 
 ters, which have frequent occasion to descend, in 
 feeding, from branch to branch, and sometimes es- 
 pecially, before assuming the pupa, to the ground, 
 affect this tree in common with the oak. Had 
 they to climb down the rugged stem, their journey 
 would be weary and circuitous ; but the Creator 
 enables them to accomplish it without fatigue or 
 labour. If you were to go into our beautiful 
 
JUNE. 189 
 
 beech woods at this season of the year, and shake 
 one of the saplings, however suddenly, you would 
 not find the inhabitants unprepared. Whether 
 eating, sleeping, or moving, the rope-ladder is im- 
 mediately put in requisition, and down they come 
 in troops. But in order to prevent a sudden 
 shock, they never descend at first more than a 
 foot and a half; they then lengthen their cords, 
 lower themselves a little farther, make a pause, 
 spin again, and at length reach the ground. By 
 this ingenious contrivance, they drop without dan- 
 ger from the loftiest trees, and ascend again the 
 same way. When about to return, the little 
 climber seizes the rope with his jaws, elevates that 
 part of the back, which corresponds with his six 
 perfect legs, till these legs become higher than the 
 head ; with one of the last pair he catches the 
 thread, from this the other receives it, and thus he 
 proceeds till he again reaches his little airy cita- 
 del. If taken at this time in the hand, you may 
 observe a packet of threads between the last two 
 pairs of the perfect legs. I once saw a company 
 of these industrious creatures suspended at diffe- 
 rent heights from the boughs of a young beech ; 
 some were working their way downwards, some 
 upwards. The wind was high, and they looked 
 like a company of aeronauts ; a few of the most 
 adventurous were blown to the distance of some 
 
190 ANNALS OF MY VILLAGE. 
 
 yards from the tree, yet they contrived to keep 
 their threads unbroken, as they waved in the gale, 
 and spun round and round, till their heads must 
 have been giddy. I was going in quest of a 
 flower to some distance ; but on my return the 
 wind abated, and the little spinners resumed their 
 work. Some had reached the ground in safety, 
 others were lengthening their threads, and a few 
 had regained the boughs. 
 
 The beech-mast affords a ready banquet to 
 squirrels, mice, and birds. 
 
 " And when the fields with scatter' d grain supply 
 No more the restless tenants of the sty, 
 From beech to beech they run with eager haste, 
 And wrangling share the first delicious taste 
 Of fallen beech nuts ; yet but thinly found, 
 Till the strong gale has shook them to the ground. 
 The trudging sow leads forth her numerous young, 
 Playful, and white, and clean, the briars among. 
 Till briars and thorns increasing, fence them round, 
 Where last year's mould'ring leaves bestrew the ground ; 
 And o'er their heads, loud lash'd by furious squalls, 
 Brown from their cups, the rattling treasure falls. 
 Hot, thirsty food ; whence doubly sweet and cool, 
 The welcome margin of some rush grown pool, 
 The wild duck's lonely haunt, whose jealous eye 
 Guards every point ; who sits prepar'd to fly 
 On the calm bosom of her little lake, 
 Too closely screen'd for ruffian winds to shake ; 
 And as the bold intruders press around, 
 At once she starts, and rises with a bound : 
 With bristles rais'd, the sudden noise they hear, 
 And ludicrously wild, and wing'd with fear, 
 
JUNE. 191 
 
 The herd decamp with more than swinish speed, 
 And snorting dash through sedge, and rush, and reed : 
 Through tangling thickets headlong on they go,, 
 Then stop, and listen for their fancied foe. 
 
 BLOOMFIELD. 
 
 I do not remember having seen either an oak, 
 ash, elm, chesnut, or birch tree, growing naturally 
 round the village. We have some noble specimens 
 of each, though evidently not aboriginal. But 
 then we have the white leaf tree, (cratcegus aria,) 
 and a very beautiful tree it is. This plant, grow- 
 ing on Penmaen Mawr, is the Afaleur pren, or 
 lemon tree, noticed by modern tourists, and cele- 
 brated in Caernarvonshire ; but how it could de- 
 rive a name from any fancied similitude to that 
 exotic is surprising. It is found in woods and 
 hedges, especially in mountainous places, and 
 calcareous soil. Blended with other forest trees, 
 it produces a most beautiful effect ; the leaves are 
 white underneath, and when shaken by the wind, pre- 
 sent their downy under-surface in striking contrast 
 with the dark green foliage of the beech. Several 
 fine specimens are found in the woods above Pitch- 
 combe, in Standish park, and on the turnpike-road 
 from Stroud to Gloucester, fronting the Roman 
 encampment. 
 
 The wood being hard, tough, and smooth, is 
 used for axletrees, wheels, and walking-sticks, for 
 the tools of the carpenter, and other kinds. The 
 
192 ANNALS OF MY VILLAGE. 
 
 fruit is eatable when mellowed by the autumnal 
 frosts ; and the stem and branches yield an ardent 
 spirit. It affords excellent charcoal, and sheep and 
 goats browse upon the leaves. 
 
 The yew tree also, (taocus* baccata,) indige- 
 nous to some of the limestone eminences in Glou- 
 cestershire, is seen in different situations round the 
 common. It generally affects mountainous woods 
 and hedges, and one specimen of considerable in- 
 terest occurs in Stinchcombe wood, standing nearly 
 on the verge of the lofty elevation that overhangs 
 the village. In the reign of Charles the First, 
 this aged tree, then vigorous and full of foliage, 
 afforded a three days' and nights' concealment to 
 an ancestor of the writer's, during the plunder 
 and conflagration of his residence, Melksham 
 Court. 
 
 The Surrey hills near Reigate, and in the neigh- 
 bourhood of Dorking, were clothed with box and 
 yew in the reign of Charles II. Lightfoot de- 
 scribes the remains of an ancient wood of yew at 
 Glemire, near Glencrenan, in Upper Lorn, whence 
 the name of the spot, Gleaniuir, the valley of yew 
 trees. That this tree may be justly considered 
 aboriginal, is proved by the fact of its having 
 
 * From raov, a bow, it being long celebrated as the best ma- 
 terial for making these formidable instruments. Systematic Ar- 
 rangement, 111. 811. 
 
JUNE. 193 
 
 been found buried in peat mosses, as in those of 
 Matterdale and Patterdale ; where, according to 
 Hutchinson, large pieces still retain their beauti- 
 ful red colour. Yet, even in situations, where the 
 yew is evidently aboriginal, it is rarely suffered to 
 grow unmolested. I remember to have once seen a 
 specimen, on whose thick branches the hatchet had 
 never been lifted up, and a most noble tree it was. 
 Growing on the summit of a steep declivity, it 
 seemed to tower in umbrageous majesty over all 
 the fathers of the forest ; and while surveying it, 
 I could imagine that it was second only to Leba- 
 non's proud cedar. 
 
 Strutt has given some admirable representations 
 of this interesting tree in his Sylva Brittanica. 
 He notices, among others, a very ancient one at 
 Fountaine Abbey in Yorkshire, which is supposed 
 to be coeval with its erection in the beginning of 
 the twelfth century; the famous Fontingal yew 
 amid the Grampian mountains, once fifty-six feet 
 in circumference ; an extraordinary one that may 
 yet be seen in the palace garden at Richmond, 
 planted three days before the birth of Queen 
 Elizabeth ; and the justly celebrated tree at Anker- 
 wyke, near Staines, in the vicinity of Runnimede, 
 a noble tree, fifty feet in height, twenty-seven in 
 girth at a yard above the ground, and beneath 
 whose spreading boughs, tradition says 
 
194 ANNALS OF MY VILLAGE. 
 
 " Bold patriot barons musing stood, 
 
 And plann'd the charter for their country's good." 
 
 I may also notice 
 
 " The pride of Lorton's vale, 
 Which to this day stands single in the midst 
 Of its own darkness, as it stood of yore j 
 Nor loth to furnish weapons in the hands 
 Of Umphraville or Percy, ere they march'd 
 To Scotland's heaths, or those, that cross'd the sea, 
 And drew their sounding hows at Agincourt : 
 Perhaps at earlier Cressy, or Poictiers, 
 Of vast circumference, and gloom profound, 
 This solitary tree. A living thing 
 Produced too slowly ever to decay ; 
 Of form and aspect too magnificent 
 To he destroy'd ! But worthier still of note 
 Are those fraternal four of Borrowdale, 
 Joined in one solemn and capacious grove ; 
 Huge trunks ! and each particular trunk a growth 
 Of intertwisted fibres serpentine, 
 Upcoiling, and inveterately convolved : 
 
 . A pillow'd shade, 
 
 Upon whose grassless floor of red -brown hue, 
 By sheddings from the pining umbrage tinged 
 Perennially ; beneath whose sable roof 
 Of boughs, as if for festal purpose, decked 
 With unrejoicing berries, ghostly shapes 
 May meet at noontide : Fear and trembling Hope, 
 Silence and Foresight, Death the skeleton, 
 And Time the shadow there to celebrate, 
 As in a natural temple, scattered o'er 
 With altars, undisturbed, of mossy stone, 
 United worship ; or in mute repose 
 To lie, and listen to the mountain flood, 
 Murmuring from Glenamara's inmost cave." 
 
 The wood is hard, smooth, and beautifully vein- 
 
JUNE. 195 
 
 ed with red ; it hardly ever decays, and is much 
 used by cabinetmakers and inlayers, also for axle- 
 trees, wheels, and flood-gates. Evelyn tells us, 
 that in Germany apartments are wainscotted with 
 yew. In this country, a large tree has been sold 
 for one hundred pounds. The fresh leaves are 
 fatal to the human species, and croppings in a 
 dried state detrimental to cattle. The clippings 
 of a yew-hedge are said to have destroyed a 
 whole dairy of cows, when thrown inadvertently 
 within their reach, and yet both sheep and turkeys, 
 and even deer, as park-keepers assert, will crop 
 these trees with impunity. 
 
 Neither history nor tradition has preserved the 
 period, when this valuable tree first obtained a 
 place in churchyards. A statute, entitled " Ne 
 Rector prosternat arbores in caemeterio," passed 
 A.D. 1307, and 35 Edward I. most probably re- 
 fers to this species of yew, as no other very large 
 or ancient trees are seen in our public cemeteries. 
 Consequently their introduction there was ante- 
 cedent to the fourteenth century. 
 
 Three reasons may be assigned for thus plant- 
 ing them. They furnished the best bows for pur- 
 poses of archery in those iron ages, when the bow 
 triumphed over every other warlike weapon. Cele- 
 rity in using the bended yew decided the battles 
 of Cressy, Poictiers, and Agincourt. By this sim- 
 
196 ANNALS OF MY VILLAGE. 
 
 pie instrument the flowers of chivalry were scat- 
 tered and dispersed, and even men-at-arms, encased 
 in mail, vainly endeavoured to brave its fury. In 
 the latter momentous contest, it stands recorded, 
 that "the enemy's crossbow-men, after the first 
 but too hasty discharge, in which they hurt very 
 few, retreated from the fear of our bows." " The 
 warlike band of archers, with their strong and 
 numerous volleys, covered the air with clouds, 
 shedding, as a cloud laden with a shower, an in- 
 tolerable multitude of piercing arrows, and inflict- 
 ing wounds on the horses, which either threw the 
 French riders to the ground, or forced them to 
 retreat ; and so their formidable purpose was de- 
 feated." * For individual deeds of prowess with 
 the same weapon, we may refer to the fine old 
 ballad of Chevy Chase, and the blood-stained an- 
 nals of the Emerald Isle, which owed her subjuga- 
 tion, in the reign of Henry II. to the use of the 
 strong bow. 
 
 "Ah ! why will kings forget that they are men, 
 And men that they are brethren !" 
 
 PORTEUS. 
 
 It is obvious that our churchyards could not 
 supply the constant demand, and hence a law was 
 passed in the reign of Edward IV. that every fo- 
 reign merchant, who traded to a country, where the 
 
 * Nicolas. Elmham. 
 
JUNE. 
 
 197 
 
 yew tree grew, should for every ton of goods bring 
 four bow staves; and a similar enactment was 
 made in the time of Richard III. at which period 
 it was the usual boast of the stout yeoman, that 
 none but an Englishman had strength to bend the 
 bow. 
 
 The thick branches of the yew tree served also 
 for processions on Palm Sunday in monkish times, 
 as we learn from Caxton's directions for keeping 
 feasts throughout the year, printed 1483. " Where- 
 fore holy chirche makyth solemne processyon, in 
 mind of the processyon that Christ made this day. 
 But for encheson that we have non olyve that ber- 
 ith green leef, algate therefore we take ewe instede 
 of palme and olyve, and bereth about processyon, 
 and so is this day called Palme Sunday.*" To 
 which it may be added, that yews, in the church- 
 yards of East Kent, are even now called palms. 
 Their thickly-clothed branches served also to 
 screen the churches from fierce winds, and the as- 
 sembling congregations from the rain, and were 
 designed by the most respectable parishioners as a 
 kind of funeral monuments, around the stem and 
 beneath the shade of which, their families and de- 
 scendants might rest together. 
 
 " The funeral yew, the funeral yew ! 
 
 How many a fond and tearful eye 
 Hath hither turn'd its pensive view, 
 
 And through this dark leaf sought the sky ! 
 
198 ANNALS OF MY VILLAGE. 
 
 How many a light and beauteous form, 
 Committed to its guardian trust, 
 
 Safe housed from life's tumultous storm, 
 Hath gently melted into dust ! 
 
 While mindful love would long renew 
 
 Its grief beneath the funeral yew. 
 
 More meet to deck the lowly grave, 
 
 These living plumes by Nature spread, 
 Than sable tufts that proudly wave 
 
 Their pompous honours o'er the dead. 
 The oak hath doffed his leafy pride, 
 
 As frowjiing winter pass'd him by ; 
 The grass hath shrunk, the flowers have diedj 
 
 Beneath bright summer's burning sky : 
 But all to love and sorrow true, 
 Unblenching waved this funeral yew. 
 
 I had not from the moulds below 
 
 Thus borne their beauteous canopy, 
 But life has many a secret throe, 
 
 And sad remembrance many a sigh ; 
 And oh ! 'tis sweet in hours of toil, 
 
 Amid the throb of struggling grief, 
 To rest the aching eye awhile 
 
 Upon this dark and feathery leaf ; 
 And think how softly falls the dew 
 On peaceful graves beneath the yew. 
 
 This branch of yew ! its tints divide 
 
 The sparkling glow of early bloom ; 
 It tells of youth and martial pride, 
 
 Commingling with the dreary tomb ; 
 It throws upon earth's pageantry, 
 
 A shadow deep as closing night, 
 And sweetly lures the awe-struck eye 
 
 To rays of life, and fields of light j 
 And stars of promise burst to view, 
 Through thy dark foliage, mournful yew." 
 
JUNE. 199 
 
 We have also the singular and beautiful spin- 
 dle-tree (euonymus Europceus) in a hedge above 
 the Dell rivulet, towards Longridge ; the common 
 elder (sambucus* ebulus) very generally in our 
 woods and damp hedges, where it attains consider- 
 able size ; the sycamore (acerf pseudo-platanus ) 
 on stony banks, and among tangled shrubs ; the 
 maple (acer campestre) in our thickets. Concern- 
 ing the first, I may briefly notice, that if the wood 
 be cut when the plant is in blossom, it is so little 
 liable to be broken, that watchmakers use it for 
 cleaning watches, and musical-instrument makers 
 for keys of organs : of the second, that its leaves are 
 an ingredient in several cooling ointments ; that its 
 hard, tough, and yellow wood is used for the top 
 of angling-rods, and to make needles for weaving 
 nets; and that if turnips, cabbages, and fruit- 
 trees, are whipped with the green leaves and 
 branches, the insects that otherwise frequent, will 
 not attack them ; the pith, too, when cut into 
 balls, is used in electrical experiments, on account 
 of its excessive lightness. The sycamore appears 
 to have been originally an exotic, gradually intro- 
 duced into Britain for ornament and shade. Tur- 
 
 * So called from sambuca, a musical instrument of the ancients, 
 (perhaps the same as the Italian pipe Sampogna,) usually made 
 of this plant. 
 
 t From acer, sharp or hard, the wood being used to form ja- 
 velins, W% 
 
200 ANNALS OF MY VILLAGE. 
 
 ner and Evelyn deny its being indigenous ; and 
 Parkinson says, " It is no where found wilde or 
 natural in our land that I can learn, but only 
 planted in orchards or walks for the shadow^s sake;" 
 or, as old Gerard quaintly says, "a stranger in Eng- 
 land, which springeth in walks and places of plea- 
 sure." When planted by the sea-side, it attains a 
 considerable height. Aplantation of these trees, fifty 
 feet asunder, with three sea sallow-thorns between 
 every two of them, will make a fence sufficient to 
 defend the herbage of the country from being in- 
 jured by the spray. The wood is soft and light, 
 very useful to the turners, and generally formed 
 into bowls and trenchers. Among the ancient 
 Egyptians, such, as could afford it, interred their 
 relations in sycamore cases, on which the history 
 of their lives was painted ; while the poor trans- 
 mitted their simple memorials to posterity on 
 leaves of the papyrus, rolled up, and placed across 
 the breast. The maple is an interesting object in 
 woodland scenery ; when old, it is frequently en- 
 twined with ivy, or wreathed with the large flow- 
 ering white convolvulus, and the singular rugged- 
 ness of its boughs, and deeply furrowed stem, 
 give it a decided character. But as it grows in 
 our fences, and is often reduced by the hedger's 
 bill to a level with the sloe and bramble, the ad- 
 mirers of rural scenery generally disregard the 
 
JUNE. 201 
 
 humble maple; yet we have some specimens on a 
 wild rugged bank at Dudcombe, that would bear 
 a competition with most of the sylvan brother- 
 hood. 
 
 The way-faring tree, or mealy guelder-rose 
 (viburnum* lantana) is not uncommon in our 
 dingles, where it grows rapidly, and throws up its 
 "silver globes" in striking contrast with more 
 sombre foliage. 
 
 " Way-faring tree ! what ancient claim 
 Hast thou to that right pleasant name 1 
 Was it that some faint pilgrim came 
 
 Unhopedly to thee ; 
 In the brown desert's weary way, 
 Midst thirst and toil's consuming sway, 
 And there, as 'neath thy shade he lay, 
 
 Blessed the way-faring tree ? 
 
 Or is it that thou lov'st to show 
 
 Thy coronals of fragrant snow, 
 
 Like life's spontaneous joys that flow, 
 
 In paths by thousands beat 1 
 Whate'er it be, I love it well, 
 A name, methinks, that surely fell 
 From poet in some evening dell, 
 . Wandering with fancies sweet. 
 
 A name, given in those older days, 
 When 'midst the wild woods' vernal sprays, 
 The "merle and mavies" poured their lays 
 In the lone listener's ear, 
 
 * According to Martyn, viburna in the plural, signifies in clas- 
 sic authors, any shrubs, which were used in binding or tying. 
 
202 ANNALS OF MY VILLAGE. 
 
 Like songs of an enchanted land, 
 Sung sweetly to some fairy band, 
 Leaning with doffed helms in hand, 
 
 In some green hollow near." W. H. 
 
 The bramble the bramble which the farmers 
 hate what can be said in favour of that " ditch 
 trumpery," as one has rudely called it, that widely 
 spreading and rambling bush ? It twines, if not 
 prevented, round the stems of our choicest trees, 
 chokes the hedge, and often recalls to mind, by its 
 ungrateful efforts, that this fair globe has suffered 
 a sad revulsion. 
 
 Thus is the bramble (rubus* fruticosus) con- 
 tinually reflected on ; yet even this unsightly 
 shrub has many redeeming qualities. Good often 
 springs out of seeming evil, in the natural as well 
 as moral world. We may remove the bramble 
 from situations, where it unwelcomely intrudes; 
 bnt how could we supply its place in the creation ? 
 The green twigs are very useful in dying wool, 
 silk, and mohair black ; several caterpillars and 
 small winged creatures feed upon the leaves ; the 
 long tendrils are much employed by our country 
 people as binders in thatching ricks and cottages, 
 and to prevent the straw from being carried off in 
 high- windy weather; we secure with them, also, 
 the new placed turf over the graves of our vil- 
 
 * Rubus or ruber, Latin, rub, Celtic, red, from the colour of 
 the fruit and other parts. 
 
JUNE. 203 
 
 lagers, until it unites and forms a sod. In situa- 
 tions too, which are exposed to freezing gales, or 
 under the drip of lofty trees, where the quick re- 
 fuses to grow, it will entwine its long flexile run- 
 ners with the sloe, the alder, or the maple, and 
 thus form a firm barrier to the encroachments of 
 cattle, where otherwise the scenery must have been 
 defaced with a rough stone wall. 
 
 The bramble is besides a vegetable fortress, to 
 which the inhabitants of the air resort, as to a 
 fenced city. It affords a shelter to innumerable 
 birds, prevents the cattle from destroying its inno- 
 cent occupants, and often obliges them to contri- 
 bute a lock of hair, with which to garnish their 
 nests. 
 
 The relations of the common bramble, which 
 are also widely diffused, are equally valuable in 
 their assigned localities. 
 
 The raspberry, or bramble bush, (rubus idceus) 
 plentiful in the wild woods of Wales, and by no 
 means uncommon in many parts of England, 
 yields that fragrant subacid and cooling fruit, 
 which is scarcely inferior to the strawberry; it 
 dissolves the tartareous secretions of the teeth, and 
 the fresh leaves are the favourite food of kids. 
 From the fruit of the dwarf crimson bramble, 
 (rubus arcticus,) which has lately been discovered 
 in the Highlands of Scotland, a richly-flavoured 
 
204 ANNALS OF MY VILLAGE. 
 
 sweetmeat may be prepared ; in Sweden they fur- 
 nish excellent wine. The berries of the cloud- 
 berry, or mountain-bramble, (rubus chamcemorus,) 
 common to peat-bogs on the sides of mountains in 
 the north of England and of Scotland, are an ex- 
 cellent anti-scorbutic. The Laplanders bury them 
 beneath the snow, and thus preserved from year to 
 year, they bruise and eat them with the milk of 
 the rein-deer. The Norwegians pack large quan- 
 tities in wooden vessels, and send them to Stock- 
 holm, where, as in the Scotch Highlands, they are 
 served up with the dessert, or made into tarts. Other 
 species are equally useful in different situations, 
 either as citadels for the smaller birds, in forming 
 hedges, or in various purposes, to which their long 
 tendinous branches may be applied. They nourish, 
 too, various kinds of butterflies, phalense, and ca- 
 terpillars, and yield their autumnal fruits to save 
 many a poor hungry bird from want and misery. 
 
 *' Thus trees of nature, and each common hush, 
 Uncultivated thrive, and with red berries blush. 
 Vile shrubs are torn for browse ; the tow'ring heights, 
 Of unctuous trees are torches for the night. 
 Ev'n those of humblest growth, the lowly kind, 
 Are for the shepherd, or the sheep design'd. 
 Ev'n humble broom and osiers have their use, 
 And shade for sleep, and food for flocks produce ; 
 Hedges for corn, and honey for the bees, 
 Besides the pleasing prospect of the trees." 
 
 GtORGICS. 
 
JUNE. 205 
 
 Wild flowers and shrubs also abound in the 
 neighbourhood. To enumerate them would be 
 unnecessary ; but a short list of the most curious 
 and beautiful, with a brief notice of the spots 
 where they are to be found, may be neither un- 
 acceptable nor unentertaining. 
 
 Poterium sanquisorba, Upland burnet, on the 
 little common above the village. This valuable 
 plant forms almost the whole staple of the herb- 
 age over a great extent on Salisbury plain, where 
 it is closely fed by the large flocks, that pasture on 
 it every day. The young leaves are used in 
 salads ; when bruised, they smell like cucumber. 
 
 Ophrys insectifera, (bee-ophyrs, or twayblade) ; 
 gentiana campestris, (field gentian) ; cistus helian- 
 themum, (little sun-flower, dwarf cistus) ; lotus 
 corniculatus, (bird's-foot) ; campanula glomerata^ 
 (clustered bell-flower). All these grow on Sheps- 
 combe common, below the Ebworth woods. 
 
 Helleborus fcetidus, (bearVfoot. ) Jack 's-green, 
 near the village. 
 
 Helleborus mridis. Green-flowered hellebore. 
 
 Hedge banks, between the Dell and Longridge. 
 Serapias* latifolia, (broad-leaved helleborine) . 
 
 Frith wood, near Painswick. 
 
 * Serapis, an Egyptian deity, probably referring to his 
 lapian faculty ; or, perhaps, after Serapion, a physician of 
 Alexandria. 
 
206 ANNALS OF MY VILLAGE. 
 
 Serapias grandiflora, (white helleborine). 
 Woods near Shepscombe. 
 
 Campanula trachelium, (Canterbury bells) ; 
 campanula glomerata, (clustered bell-flower). 
 Woods and hedges. 
 
 Atropa belladonna, (deadly nightshade). Birdlip 
 wood, on the left side of the new Cheltenham road. 
 
 Solanum dulcamara, (woody nightshade) 
 Hedges on the Lodge farm Boerhaave reports 
 it to be a medicine far superior to sarsaparilla as 
 a sweetener and restorative. Linnaeus, Hill, and 
 Hallenburg, speak of it as efficacious in rheuma- 
 tisms, fevers, inflammations, and jaundice. 
 
 Epilobium angustifolium, (rose-bay, willow- 
 herb). A splendid flower, growing in Shepscombe 
 wood The Kamtschatcadales brew a kind of ale 
 from the pith. The down of the seeds are also 
 manufactured into stockings and other articles of 
 clothing. 
 
 Daphne me%ereum, (mezereon). Stream side in 
 the dingle above Ebworth fish ponds. A beautiful, 
 yet deadly plant : six of the berries will kill a wolf. 
 
 Daphne laureola, (spurge laurel). Beech woods 
 and hedges. Fancy gardeners graft the althcea 
 frutex on this beautiful evergreen. 
 
 Paris quadrifolia, (herb Paris, four-leaved true- 
 love). Stream side in the Lodge thicket, and near 
 the ruins of the Roman villa, in the Birdlip woods. 
 
JUNE. 207 
 
 Monotropa hypopithys, (primrose-scented bird's 
 nest). At the foot of some old beeches in the 
 Frith wood. 
 
 Chrysosplenium alternifolium, (alternate-leaved 
 sen-green). Edge of the mill-dam near the bottom 
 of the beech-lane, and stream side near Tocknels. 
 
 Chrysosplenium oppositifolium., (golden saxi- 
 frage, or opposite-leaved sen-green). Lanes and 
 streamlets near the village. 
 
 Erigeron* acre, (blue flea-bane). Spoonbed hill. 
 
 Conyxa squarrosa Plowman's spikenard. 
 
 Hyosciamus niger, (common henbane). Rare 
 in this part of Gloucestershire. Small tufts on 
 JackVgreen, near the village. The blossom is 
 elegantly veined with purple, but so intolerably 
 scented, that even goats and swine refuse it. The 
 seeds, roots, and leaves, taken internally, have been 
 known to produce convulsions, madness, and death ; 
 yet the expressed juice, when evaporated to an 
 extract, may be advantageously joined with opium. 
 The habit of this plant is in general solitary ; but 
 Mr. Withering notices having seen it growing pro- 
 fusely around the ruined fishermen's huts, on the 
 steep Holmes island in the Severn .f 
 
 Juniperus communis, (common juniper). A 
 rigid, smooth, and dark green shrub, very fre- 
 
 * From two Greek words, signifying spring, and an old man ; 
 alluding to its hoary and grey appearance in that verdurous season, 
 t " Arrangement of British Plants." Last Edition, ii. 516. 
 
ANNALS OF MY VILLAGE. 
 
 quent in the neighbourhood. Few know the value 
 of this plant ; but those who are acquainted with 
 its virtues, would not willingly exchange it for 
 even the bright flowering gorse or purple heath. 
 The wood is hard and durable, the bark may be 
 made into ropes ; gum sandarach, more commonly 
 called pounce, is the product of this tree: the 
 berries, when burnt, purify the air in hospitals or 
 sick rooms, and three taken fasting every morning, 
 have been known to cure a dropsy of two years' 
 standing. 
 
 Nor must the common perforated St. JohnV 
 wort (hypericum* perforatum) pass unnoticed, 
 though frequent in our woods and thickets. It is 
 a favourite flower, much renowned in ancient days, 
 and even now connected with many popular super- 
 stitions. The inhabitants of North Wales deco- 
 rate their floors and windows with its sprigs, that 
 " evil spirits may look thereon and flee." In Ger- 
 many, that land of legend and romance, young 
 men and maidens fasten sprigs of St. JohnVwort 
 against their chamber-walls on Midsummer night, 
 and prognosticate from its appearance in the morn- 
 ing, whether or not their condition will soon be 
 changed : if fresh, no longer are they to remain 
 in single blessedness ; if withered, they are des- 
 tined to droop and pine away. 
 
 * From the two Greek words, against and a spirit ; it being 
 considered an amulet, or preservative from evil spirits. 
 
JUNE. 209 
 
 " The joung maid stole through the cottage-door, 
 And blush'd as she sought the plant of power : 
 ' Thou silver glow-worm, O lend me thy light ! 
 I must gather the mystic St. John's wort to-night 
 The wonderful herb, whose leaf will decide 
 If the coming year shall see me a bride.' 
 And the glow-worm came, 
 With its silvery flame, 
 And sparkled and shone 
 Through the night of St. John. 
 And soon as the young maid her love-knot tied, 
 With noiseless tread, 
 To her chamber she sped, 
 
 Where the spectral moon her white beams shed : 
 * Bloom here, bloom here, thou plant of power, 
 To deck the young bride in her bridal hour !' 
 But it drooped its head, that plant of power, 
 And died the mute death of the voiceless flower. 
 And a withered leaf on the ground it lay, 
 More meet for a burial than a bridal-day. 
 And when a year had pass'd away, 
 All pale on her bier the young maid lay ! 
 And the glow-worm came 
 With its silvery flame, 
 And sparkled and shone, 
 On the eve of St. John, 
 As they closed the chill grave o'er the cold maid's clay." 
 
 Whether this plant, or the renowned vervain 
 was esteemed by our ancestors the most effica- 
 cious preservative from ill, we have no means of 
 knowing ; but certain it is, that in more credulous 
 ages, implicit reliance was placed on such charms ; 
 and so important was their influence considered, 
 that in trials by combat, an oath was exacted 
 
 p 
 
210 ANNALS OF MY VILLAGE. 
 
 from both appellant and defendant, not merely 
 that the cause, for which they were to fight, was 
 just and true, but that they had nothing to do 
 with witchcraft, or magic, nor carried about with 
 them any herb, or other kind of charm ! after 
 which ceremonial they prepared to fight, first 
 with spears, then with swords, and lastly with 
 their daggers. 
 
 The vervain, too, (verbena officinalis^) grows 
 plentifully on the rugged banks of old stone quar- 
 ries on the common. It seems to love the purest 
 air of heaven, refuses to vegetate in cultivated 
 places, and never decorates the cottage-door. 
 You may see the rosemary grow there, and wild 
 honeysuckle, the splendid willow-herb, sage, and 
 baum, but never this unassuming flower. Was it 
 this very wildness, this love of lone heaths and 
 deserted places, that gave it such celebrity in 
 ancient times ? while, on the contrary, others 
 seem to follow man, to thrive even amid dust 
 and rubbish, and are found wherever a shepherd's 
 tent or a few hovels rise upon the waste. Such 
 are the mallow, mugwort, and dock. Romond 
 and De Candolle observed several of these plants 
 among the ruins of cottages, once inhabited by 
 shepherds on the Pyrennees, and some years since, 
 Mr. Winch remarked the same circumstance in 
 the Scottish Highlands. The appearance of these 
 
JUNE. 211 
 
 plants around our dwellings is a curious and inex- 
 plicable phenomenon ; no one ever cultivated them 
 for utility, much less for beauty, yet still they 
 spring beside the cottage, while the vervain can 
 only flourish afar off. This vervain is a simple 
 flower : while a child, I scarcely looked at, and 
 never gathered it ; nor was it till I had read that 
 fanes, palaces, and temples were strewed and sanc- 
 tified with vervain, that no incantation or lustra- 
 tion was performed without its aid ; that beasts 
 for sacrifice, and altars, were filletted and decked 
 with its branches ; and that Roman, Grecian, and 
 Gaulish priests, British druids, and Indian magi, 
 equally venerated this simple plant, that I tocT 
 learned to venerate it. 
 
 '* There are fairer flowers, that hloom on the lea, 
 And give out their fragrant scent to the gale ; 
 But the vervain with charmed leaf shall be 
 The plant of our choosing, though scentless and pale. 
 
 " For wrapp'd in the veil of thy lowly flower, 
 They say that a powerful influence dwells ; 
 And that, duly cull'd in the star-bright hour, 
 Thou bindest the heart by thy powerful spells. 
 
 " We will plant thee beneath our sheltering tree, 
 In our bower we will bid thy blossoms unfold ; 
 So faithful and firm may our friendships be, 
 So never may glowing hearts grow cold." 
 
 WILD GARLAND. 
 
ANNALS OF MY VILLAGE. 
 
 Anciently, it was said to arrest the poison of 
 gliding serpents, to cure the bite of rabid animals, 
 to soften down asperities, to strengthen love and 
 friendship; even Gerard, the good old Gerard, 
 the faithful gardener and herbalist of that re- 
 nowned philosopher, Lord Bacon, though he dis- 
 claims " the many old wives' fables, that are writ- 
 ten of vervaine, tending to witchcraft, sorcerie, 
 and such things as honest ears abhore to hear," 
 has much descanted on the virtues of his favourite 
 plant. And still, though little known, and less 
 regarded, our village doctress recommends a de- 
 coction of its leaves, as a strengthener, and the 
 dried powders as a vermifuge. 
 
 Among ferns, the following are deserving of at- 
 tention : 
 
 Elecknum Spicant, (rough spleen wort). In 
 the recesses of the thicket, in the vale of Dud- 
 combe. 
 
 Asplenium Ceterach, (Scaly spleen wort). Gar- 
 den-wall at Tocknels, near Shepscombe. 
 
 Polypodium aculeatum, (prickly polypody). 
 Shepscombe- wood . 
 
 Polypodium Felicc-fcemina, (female polypody). 
 Custom Scrubs, near Shepscombe. 
 
 Asplenium trichomanes, (common maiden-hair). 
 In our shady lanes. Pteris Crispa, (crisped 
 fern). On old walls. Poly podium Filix-mas, (male 
 
JUNE. 
 
 fern). In woods and heaths. The asplenium^ sco- 
 lopendrium, hart's, or, as it is called by the poet, 
 adder's tongue: the latter affects the banks of 
 streamlets it grows profusely round a well-head 
 at Dudcombe. 
 
 " Lonely that forest spring. A rocky hill 
 Rises beside it, and an aged yew 
 Bursts from the rifted crags, that overhang 
 The waters : cavern'd there, unseen and slow, 
 And silently they well. The adder's-tongue, 
 Rich with the wrinkles of its glossy green, 
 Hangs down its long, lank leaves, whose wavy slip 
 Just breaks the tranquil surface. Ancient woods 
 Bosom the quiet beauties of the place ; 
 Nor ever sound profanes it, save such sound, 
 As silence loves to hear, the passing wind, 
 Or the low murmur of the scarce-heard stream.'' 
 
 JOAN OF ABC. 
 
 Ferns are important in the general economy of 
 nature. They grow on heaths and commons, in 
 woods and marshy places, where others of the 
 vegetable tribes seldom flourish ; their broad, 
 spreading leaves afford a welcome shelter to va- 
 rious birds and small quadrupeds, as well as to 
 several tender plants; insects, too, are nourished 
 by the sweet mucilage of the roots, and in some of 
 the northern regions, they contribute to the sup- 
 port of the human species. 
 
 A tolerably pure alkali may be obtained from 
 the ashes of the common brakes (pteris aquilina ). 
 
ANNALS OF MY VILLAGE. 
 
 In many parts of England they are mixed with 
 water, and formed into balls, which are heated in 
 the fire, and used to make lye for scouring linen. 
 This species is employed, where coal is scarce, for 
 heating ovens, and to burn limestone, as it affords 
 a great heat ; our peasantry also use it for thatch- 
 ing, and for littering cattle, as in the days of 
 Virgil, who thus admonishes his careful hus- 
 bandman 
 
 " First, with assiduous care, from winter keep, 
 Well fodder'd in the stalls, thy tender sheep ; 
 Then spread with straw the bedding of the fold, 
 With fern beneath to fend the bitter cold." 
 
 It is delightful to retrace the habitats of my 
 rare or favourite plants to review in thought 
 those beautiful scenes, where they inhale the purest 
 air of heaven. Perhaps other botanists may visit 
 them ; and while it is with me to direct their steps, 
 I would briefly notice, as replete with scenes of 
 singular and romantic beauty, as well as rich in 
 plants, the deep retiring vale of Dudcombe, beside 
 the Cheltenham-road ; the Longridge woods, be- 
 tween that road and Shepscombe ; the village 
 common, belted with the Ebworth woods ; and for 
 ferns and crustaceous lichens, Totnell's ancient 
 garden-wall, beside the little mill-pond and green 
 meadow. 
 
 Before closing these memoranda of different 
 
JUNE. 
 
 plants, I may briefly notice, that the shepherd's 
 rod, or small teasel (dipsacus* pilosus) grows on 
 the lane- side, below the vicarage, at Painswick. 
 Botanists recognize three species of this interesting 
 genus; the one just cited, which affects damp 
 hedges; the wild teasel, (dipsacus sylvestris,) 
 common to uncultivated places, and moist banks, 
 though never seen north of Derbyshire and Not- 
 tinghamshire ; and the fuller's, on which the vast 
 
 woollen clothing fabric materially depends; but 
 whether this plant has been ever found really wild 
 
 * From Sitycua, to be thirsty ; in allusion to the leaves forming- 
 cavities capable of containing water. 
 
216 ANNALS OF MY VILLAGE. 
 
 in Britain, appears doubtful. Dr. Smith suspects 
 that there is really no specific difference between 
 this and the preceding. 
 
 The fuller's teasel is cultivated in some of the 
 strong clay lands of Wiltshire, Essex, Glouces- 
 tershire, and Somersetshire, and affords, with the 
 Dutch rush, or shave-grass,* the only known in- 
 stances of natural productions being applied to 
 mechanical purposes. Ingenious men have un- 
 availingly endeavoured to supply by art this ad- 
 mirable contrivance of nature, but every invention 
 has been abandoned, as either defective or inju- 
 rious. The teasel is employed to raise the knap 
 from woollen cloths, and for this purpose the heads 
 are fixed round the circumference of a large broad 
 wheel, which is made to turn in contact with the 
 cloth; if a knot, roughness, or projection, catch 
 the hooks, they break immediately, without injury 
 or contention ; but any mechanical invention, in- 
 stead of yielding, tears them out, and materially 
 injures the surface. 
 
 As teasel crops require both labour and atten- 
 tion, are necessarily precarious in their returns, 
 and liable to injury from dripping seasons, those, 
 who have heavy rents to pay, rarely cultivate 
 them. They consequently become the care of the 
 
 * The stems have long been imported from Holland, to polish 
 cabinet work, ivory, plaster casts, and even brass. 
 
JUNE. 
 
 more considerable cottagers ; and as the members 
 of the family unite in raising them, they are fre- 
 quent^y a source of considerable profit. To this 
 purpose a small field, or garden, is generally ap- 
 propriated. When the heads are ripe, they are 
 cut from the plant with a teasel- knife, and affixed 
 to poles. The terminating ones, which ripen first, 
 are called kings ; they are large and coarse, about 
 half the value of the best, and fitted only for the 
 strongest kinds of cloth. The collateral heads 
 then succeed, known by the name of middlings, 
 and are used for the finest purposes. As they 
 cannot be thatched like corn, for fear of injuring 
 the fine points, and a free circulation of air is 
 requisite to dry them, every bed-room, passage, 
 donkey-shed, and thatched wall is crowded with 
 these valuable productions. If the sun breaks 
 out, and the wind is drying, women and children 
 are seen running with all haste to place them in 
 the warm beams. 
 
 When dry, they are picked and sorted into 
 bundles ten thousand of the best and smallest 
 make a middling pack nine thousand of the larger 
 the pack of kings. This valuable plant seems to 
 be known in many countries by a name expressive 
 of its use. Gerard eulogizes its virtues ; he tells 
 us that its old English name was the carding teasel ; 
 that the French call it cardon de foullon ; the 
 
218 ANNALS OF MY VILLAGE. 
 
 Danes and Swedes, karde tidsel ; the Flemings, kar- 
 den distel ; the Hollanders, kaarden ; Italians and 
 Portuguese, cardo ; the Spaniards, cardencha. 
 
 Large quantities are frequently brought into 
 the village, and as frequently renewed, for it re- 
 quires fifteen hundred or two thousand teasels to 
 dress a moderately sized piece of cloth. None of 
 our cottagers raise them ; the land is not suffi- 
 ciently strong and clayey, and their little gardens 
 are more profitably applied to the cultivation of 
 fruit or vegetables. Besides, our village stands at 
 the commencement of a long chain of valleys, 
 which constitute the clothing part of Gloucester- 
 shire, and its population is consequently employed 
 in various branches of this valuable manufactory. 
 Yet that manufactory could not be carried on 
 without the assistance of the teasel; and, there- 
 fore, in relating its mode of growth, and admirable 
 adaptation of parts to a most useful purpose, the 
 natural historian may be allowed briefly to trace 
 the facts and circumstances connected with the 
 introduction of the clothing manufactory into 
 Britain. 
 
 Our ancestors derived, most probably, from 
 Gaul, the valuable arts of dressing wool and flax, 
 of spinning them into yarn, and weaving cloth. 
 Tradition says that they were brought into the 
 island by some of the Belgic colonies, about a 
 
JUNE. 219 
 
 century before the first invasion of the Romans. 
 Certain it is, that an imperial manufactory of 
 linen and woollen cloth, for the use of the Roman 
 army, was established at Vinta Belgarum, now 
 Winchester. 
 
 The Anglo-Saxons, also, at the time of their 
 establishment in Britain, well knew the art of 
 dressing and spinning flax, which they manufac- 
 tured into cloth, and dyed of various colours ; and 
 from the high price of wool, enacted by the Saxon 
 legislature, it may reasonably be conjectured, that 
 the making of woollen garments was also practised 
 in the kingdom. 
 
 We know not to what extent this art was car- 
 ried, but that of weaving had attained consider- 
 able perfection. A portion of the shroud of Ed- 
 ward the Confessor, now in the museum of Walter 
 Honeywood Yate, Esq. is of a slight, fine, thin 
 texture, woven somewhat like what is now called 
 kersey-fashion. " The dyer's craft," as evinced in 
 ancient manuscripts, was also practised with great 
 success during the Saxon era. 
 
 The Norman conquest improved these valuable 
 arts. Flemish weavers accompanied the army of 
 the Conqueror, and pursued their original occu- 
 pations with great advantage to themselves, and 
 to the kingdom. Even then the Flemings were 
 so famous for their skill in manufacturing wool, 
 
ANNALS OF MY VILLAGE. 
 
 that the art of weaving was said to be a peculiar 
 gift bestowed on them by nature. Their numbers 
 were subsequently much increased by several con- 
 siderable emigrations from Flanders, particularly 
 in the reigns of Henry the First and Stephen, 
 when flourishing manufactures were established in 
 the cities of Worcester, Gloucester, Nottingham, 
 Norwich, Bedford, and in several other places. 
 Thus they continued till the stormy reigns of 
 John and Henry the Third, when the manufacture 
 of woollen cloths gradually declined, and at last 
 was wholly lost under the first and second Ed- 
 wards.* 
 
 " At length," says Fuller, with his usual 
 quaintness, " the king and state grew sensible of 
 the great gain the Netherlands got by our English 
 wool, in memory whereof the Duke of Burgundy, 
 not long after, instituted the order of the Golden 
 Fleece, wherein, indeed, the fleece was ours, the 
 golden theirs, so vast was their emolument by the 
 art of clothing. Our king, therefore, (Edward the 
 Third,) resolved, if possible, to bring the trade 
 to his own countrymen, who yet were ignorant 
 of that art, knowing no more what to do with 
 their wool, than the sheep that wear it, as to any 
 artificial and curious drapery, their best clothes 
 then being no better than friezes, such was their 
 * Strutt's Dresses. 
 
JUNE. 
 
 coarseness for want of skill in their making. But 
 soon after followed a great alteration, and we 
 shall enlarge ourselves in the manner thereof. 
 
 " The intercourse now being great betwixt the 
 English and the Netherlands, (increased of late 
 since King Edward married the daughter of the 
 Earl of Hainault,) unsuspected emissaries were 
 employed by our king, to go into those countries, 
 who wrought themselves into familiarity with 
 such Dutchmen, as were absolute masters of their 
 trade, but not masters of themselves, being either 
 journeymen or apprentices. These bemoaned the 
 slavishness of those poore servants, whom their mas- 
 ters used rather like heathens than Christians ; 
 yea, rather like horses than men ; early up, and 
 late in bed, and all day having hard work and 
 harder fare, (a few herrings and mouldy cheese,) 
 and all to enrich the churles their masters, without 
 any profit to themselves. 
 
 " But oh ! how happy should it be for them, if 
 they would but come over into England, bringing 
 their mystery with them, which would provide 
 their welcome in all places. 
 
 " Liberty is a lesson quickly conned by heart, 
 men having a principle within them to prompt 
 them in case they forget it. Perswaded by the 
 promises, many Dutch servants leave their mas- 
 ters, and make over for England. Their depar- 
 ture (being picked here and there) made no sen- 
 
ANNALS OF MY VILLAGE. 
 
 sible vacuity, but their meeting here altogether 
 amounted to a considerable fulness. With them- 
 selves they brought over their trade and tools, 
 such as could not as yet be so conveniently made 
 in England. 
 
 " Happy the yeoman's house into which one of 
 these Dutchmen did enter, bringing industry and 
 wealth along with them : such as came in strangers 
 soon after went out bridegrooms, and returned 
 sons-in-law, having married the daughters of their 
 landlords, who first entertained them ; yea, those 
 yeomen in whose houses they harboured, soon pro- 
 ceeded gentlemen, gaming great estates to them- 
 selves, arms, and worship to their estates. 
 
 " A prime Dutch cloth-maker in Gloucestershire 
 had the surname of Web given to him by King 
 Edward, a family still famous for their manufac- 
 ture. 
 
 " And now the English wool improved to the 
 highest profit, passing through so many hands, 
 sorters, kembers, carders, spinners, weavers, fullers, 
 dyers, pressers, packers, and these manufactures 
 have been heightened to a higher perfection, since 
 the cruel Duke of Alva drove more Dutch into 
 England ; hence many poor people, both old and 
 young, formerly charging the parishes, were here- 
 by enabled to maintain themselves." * 
 
 Fulling-mills were soon set up, and the teasel 
 
 * Fuller's Church History, p. 1 10, 111, 112. 
 
JUNE. 223 
 
 carefully cultivated. The Templers erected two 
 about the year 1175, at Berton, in Temple-Guiting. 
 One of these was rented for thirty-two shillings, 
 the other for twelve. They were designed to save 
 the expense of fulling by the foot, and to perform 
 those operations, that are effected by the teasel, as 
 appears by the following passage in that old poem 
 of cotemporary date with Edward III., " The 
 Visions of Piers Plowman." 
 
 " Cloth that commeth from the weving is not comely to wear, 
 Till it be fulled under fote, or in fulling stocks, 
 Washen well with water, and with tasels cratched, 
 Touked and tevnted, and under taylour's hande." 
 
 Few, if any, variations appear to have taken 
 place in the process of manufacturing cloth. The 
 receiver's accounts in Berkeley Castle contain 
 Latin terms for the technical expressions of burl- 
 ing, spooling, &c. ; and a painting on the walls of 
 Beverstone church, of the date of the fifteenth 
 century, exhibits the card, with other instruments 
 of that kind. 
 
 " But enough of this subject," as said that grave 
 historian, Fuller, which let none condemn for a 
 deviation from natural history ; " first, because it 
 would not grieve one to goe a little out of the 
 waye, if the waye be good ;" secondly, because it 
 naturally arises from the mention of the fuller's 
 teasel. 
 
ANNALS OF MY VILLAGE. 
 
 On looking over some memorandums relative to 
 this month, I find that the woad (isatis tinctoria) 
 is now in flower that plant, the mention of which 
 recalls to our recollection the wildest periods of 
 our history. Though no doubt once common in 
 this country, it now grows sparingly in corn-fields, 
 and along their borders. We have never found 
 it near the village; but botanists and tourists 
 mention New-Barns near Ely, the banks of the 
 river Wear near Durham, a field at Barton Ben- 
 dish, Norfolk, and a piece of ground by the 
 church at Long Reach, in Kent, as places of its 
 growth. 
 
 This plant is cultivated in Bedfordshire, for the 
 sake of the fine blue it yields. It is sown about 
 the beginning of March, and gathered in May or 
 June ; if the weather is fair and dry, it is best in 
 quality ; if showery, more abundant. When cut, 
 the whole plant is ground, and made up into balls. 
 The balls are then laid on hurdles to dry, they are 
 afterwards reduced to powder, spread over a floor, 
 and watered, which operation is called couching. 
 In this state the powder remains to smoke and 
 heat, and is turned every day till perfectly dry 
 and mouldy. It is then weighed by the hundred, 
 put into bags, and sent for sale to the dyers. The 
 best sort is worth at least eighteen pounds per ton. 
 This plant is also cultivated to some extent in 
 
JUNK. 
 
 Somersetshire, and at Kesmark in Hungary ; it 
 yields a colour equal to the best Spanish indigo, 
 and is mentioned by Caesar, Vitruvius, and Pliny, 
 under the name ofvitrum. 
 
 The woad is mentioned in our village annals, 
 because it is much used in dying cloth ; and the 
 annual consumption of a certain quantity is en- 
 joined by government, in order to promote its 
 growth. 
 
 The same memoranda also contain the following 
 notices. 
 
 On the fourth of June, a common snake (colu- 
 ber natri<x) was found, coiled up behind a rose- 
 tree, that was nailed to the garden wall. The 
 clear bright eye of this unwelcome guest led to its 
 discovery ; the poor creature was instantly seized, 
 and as instantly destroyed, for, notwithstanding its 
 harmless nature, it shares, in common with all its 
 tribe, the rooted antipathy of man. Harmless un- 
 doubtedly it is; for even those little birds, that 
 raise their warning voices, when a real or suspected 
 enemy appears in view, will hop and peck around 
 a basking snake without apprehension. But their 
 demeanour is very different when a viper comes in 
 sight. Those, who first discover it, instantane- 
 ously give that warning cry, which all the feathery 
 tribes, however different their various languages, 
 as instantaneously understand, and away they has- 
 
226 ANNALS OF MY VILLAGE. 
 
 ten into the hedges for safety. The wren and 
 chaffinch, especially, are most forward to give no- 
 tice of approaching peril. Nor is this extraordi- 
 nary : we all recoil instinctively from the viper 
 with a kind of shuddering dread, and the little 
 inmates of our woods and fields have many feel- 
 ings in common with ourselves. 
 
 June 12th A hot sultry day, the weather re- 
 markably close. Walking through a narrow wind- 
 ing path in the Longridge woods, I came in con- 
 tact with a sleeping viper one step more, and I 
 should have trod upon it, but happily the. reptile 
 awoke, and darted forth his tongue. This move- 
 ment discovered him ; I started back, and he as 
 suddenly retreated to his hole. These unpleasant 
 creatures are comparatively rare . I never before 
 saw, or have since met with one, except on a rocky 
 declivity, that overhangs the torrent at Lymouth, 
 in Devon. Yet I have frequently been in places 
 likely to shelter them, and that in the most sultry 
 month, without being able to ascertain the fact, 
 unless the frequent growth of the unassuming 
 blue-eyed viper-grass, (echium vulgar e^) around 
 the falls of the black cataract in North Wales, 
 and generally on the heathy sides of mountains in 
 that wild district, might lead to the conclusion 
 that where this beautiful little flower displays its 
 healing virtues, the reptile for whose bite it is 
 
JUNE. 
 
 said to be a specific, may occasionally harbour. 
 Why it has pleased our Creator to call into exis- 
 tence a race of hateful and pernicious creatures, 
 is not for us, poor finite beings, to inquire. Thus 
 much we know, that all around and all within us, 
 bear ample testimony to the humbling fact that 
 we are a fallen race. Yet even in connexion with 
 the most revolting of the reptile tribe, and beside 
 the deadliest of all vegetable poisons, what traces 
 are there of mercy and good will to man ! 
 Wherever the viper, rattle-snake, or colubria haunt, 
 there it has pleased the Creator to evince that no 
 bounds are fixed to his beneficence and power. 
 
 In Guatemala, the parasitic quaco, clinging to 
 those gigantic trees, which gird the traveller's path, 
 assures him of the presence of most noxious ser- 
 pents : the natives tell you that, where these abound, 
 this unfailing antidote to all their poisons is at 
 hand. The root and branches are equally effica- 
 cious. Whoever is bitten, has only to apply, for a 
 few hours, a little of the saliva arising from their 
 mastication to the part, and he is well. Nay, the 
 taking hold of a small piece has been known to 
 render that deadly little viper, the tamulpas, of 
 which the bite is instant death, inert and torpid, 
 and capable of being handled with impunity.* 
 
 Wherever, too, the machineal grows in those 
 
 * Official visit to Guatemala from Mexico. 
 
 Q 2 
 
ANNALS OF MY VILLAGE. 
 
 hot regions, to which it is especially assigned, be- 
 side it springs a wild fig-tree, or else its habitat is 
 on the coast. But why is this? Because salt 
 water, or the fruit of that wild tree, either taken 
 internally or rubbed upon the skin, effects a cure, 
 whenever the poison has been accidentally im- 
 bibed. 
 
 Pavilions, villages, and pyramids are now fre- 
 quent in our fields and hedge-rows, on mossy 
 banks, beside the streamlet edge, and in the dingle. 
 The upholsterer bee (apis papaveris) excavates a 
 cell, for the reception of her young, which she 
 lines with an elegant drapery of leaves or flowers ; 
 the gall-fly (cynips) provided with an instrument, 
 potent as an enchanter's wand, pierces the young 
 tender leaves of the oak, and in a few hours a com- 
 modious dwelling springs up, and surrounds her 
 embryo offspring. Such are those beautiful vege- 
 table excrescences termed galls, resembling ber- 
 ries, or small scarlet apples, on the leaves of the 
 oak, of which one species, the Aleppo gall, is all 
 important in the art, " de peindre les paroles, et 
 de parler aux yeux." These tumours owe their 
 origin to the deposition of an egg in the substance 
 out of which they grow. Their appearance is ex- 
 quisitely varied; some are globular, of a bright 
 red, and beautifully smooth ; others are beset with 
 spines, or clothed with hair ; one is tent-shaped, 
 
JUNK. 229 
 
 another resembles a scarlet flower, and causes the 
 branches, on which it grows to assume such fan- 
 tastic forms, that old botanists thought the parent 
 plant belonged to some new or distinct species. 
 Of this kind is the rose-willow (salix kelixj. 
 Gerard thus quaintly describes it, as not only 
 making " a gallant show, but also yielding a most 
 cooling aire in the heat of summer, being set up 
 in houses for the decking of the same." The com- 
 mon wild-rose, also, often shoots out from the 
 same cause, into a beautiful tuft of numerous red- 
 dish moss-like fibres. We know the reason of 
 these excrescences, and admire the effect; but 
 why the mere insertion of an egg into the sub- 
 stance of a leaf, or bark, should occasion such 
 protuberances, is a problem, that we have no means 
 of solving. 
 
 The labyrinth, or zigzag lines, on the leaves of 
 dandelions and brambles, evince the industry of a 
 different species. They are the work of subcuta- 
 neous insects, which remove the pulpy substance, 
 and thus form labyrinths of considerable extent. 
 To them a leaf is a vast country, and several 
 weeks are usually devoted to the labour of exca- 
 vating it Observe, too, those convenient habita- 
 tions, which are formed of the leaves of different 
 plants. In order to construct them, the little 
 hermits fix a number of silken cables from one 
 
230 ANNALS OF MY VILLAGE. 
 
 side of the leaf to the other. They then pull them 
 with their feet, and as the sides of the leaves ap- 
 proach, they fasten them together with shorter 
 threads. Should a large fibre resist their efforts, 
 they weaken it by repeated gnawings. This in- 
 sect dwelling, which resembles a small roll, is 
 very common in our hedge-rows. Another, still 
 more curious, is conical, or horn-shaped, and com- 
 posed of a long triangular portion, cut from the 
 edge of a leaf, rolled together, and placed in 
 nearly an upright position. The operator pro- 
 ceeds as with an inclined obelisk. She at- 
 taches threads, or cables, towards the point of 
 the pyramid, and raises it by the weight of her 
 small body. Nor are those little cones, or downy 
 russet-coloured projections, about a quarter of an 
 inch in height, and .not much thicker than a pin, 
 which are seen during the present month on the 
 under surface of pur pear-tree leaves, less deserv- 
 ing of attention. If you detatch one of them, and 
 give it a gentle squeeze, a minute caterpillar, a 
 tinea, with a yellowish body and black head, imme- 
 diately appears. If you further examine the base, 
 where the little cone was fixed, you will perceive a 
 round excavation in the cuticle and parenchyma 
 of the leaf, occasioned by the minute caterpil- 
 lar's removing its little tent from one part to 
 another, and eating away the space immediately 
 
JUNE. 231 
 
 beneath it. This tent is composed of silk, which 
 the inmate spins, almost as soon as it is excluded 
 from the egg, and enlarges by splitting it in two, 
 and introducing a strip of new materials, It is 
 retained in an erect position by attaching silken 
 threads from a protuberance at the base, to the 
 surrounding surface of the leaf, and further 
 steadied by a vacuum, as effectually as if an air- 
 pump had been employed. This vacuum is caused 
 by the little Arab's rapidly retreating, if alarmed, 
 up his narrow case, which he completely fills, 
 while the space below is free of air. Hence it 
 happens, that the tent may be readily pulled up 
 while the occupant is feeding on the leaf, for the 
 fragile cords give way with the slightest force ; 
 but if, proceeding gently, you give the insect time 
 to retreat, the case will adhere so firmly, that 
 some effort is requisite. It seems, also, as if the 
 creature knew, that should the air obtain admis- 
 sion, no vacuum could be formed, and the tent 
 must fall. It therefore remains contented with 
 the pasture afforded by the parenchyma above the 
 lower epidermis ; it never excavates a hole in the 
 leaf; but when the produce fails, it breaks the 
 slender cords, that held the tent erect, and pitches 
 it elsewhere. 
 
 Numerous instances might be adduced of the 
 dexterity with which different insects employ their 
 
232 
 
 ANNALS OF MY VILLAGE. 
 
 saws and files, augers, gimlets, knives, and for- 
 cipes, in the construction of various habitations. 
 How one builds a house of stone, another of paste- 
 board ; with what dexterity a third arranges, side 
 by side, the spines of some species of mimosa, so 
 as to form an elegant fluted cylinder to its dwel- 
 ling ; in what manner a fourth covers in the roof 
 with blades of grass, fastened only at one end, and 
 overlapping each other like the tiles on our cot- 
 tages. All this, and much more, might be told : 
 compact, convenient dwellings, harmonious fami- 
 lies, commonwealths, and little communities, might 
 be pointed out in our lanes and hedge-rows, but 
 such descriptions would lead too far. I shall, 
 therefore, mention only one instance more, in the 
 neat dwelling, and social compact, of the humble 
 bees, and then pass on. 
 
JUNE. 233 
 
 The nest of this industriovis insect is a beautiful 
 and curious structure. It is not uncommon in 
 pasture-lands and meadows, and in hedge-rows, 
 where the soil is entangled with moss and roots. 
 Looking narrowly, you may discover a little 
 thickly -felted mossy dome ; the lower half occu- 
 pies a cavity in the soil, either accidentally found 
 there, or excavated, with great labour, by the bees ; 
 with a gallery, or covered way, about a foot in 
 length, and half an inch in diameter, leading to 
 the interior. I have often admired the little cita- 
 del, and seen the unoffending inmates intent on 
 their honest labours, but I could not gratify my 
 curiosity by destroying the pile, which they had 
 reared with so much toil. Yet the mode of its 
 erection, and their economy, is too curious to be 
 omitted ; and therefore, reader, that you may not 
 pass the little mossy pile without knowing some- 
 thing of its secret history, I shall endeavour to 
 comprize, in a small space, much that I have ob- 
 served and collected on the subject. 
 
 The interior of the dome is coated with a thin 
 roof of coarse wax, for the purpose of keeping out 
 the wet, and beneath, a few irregular horizontal 
 combs, connected by small wax pillars, attest the 
 industry of the occupants. Each comb contains a 
 silken cocoon, spun by the young larvae; some 
 are closed at the upper extremity Bothers open. 
 
ANNALS OF MY VILLAGE. 
 
 The former contain the coming progeny, the 
 latter are empty cases from which the young bees 
 have escaped. Several waxen masses of flattened 
 spheroidal shapes may be seen on the upper 
 combs ; when opened they are found to inclose a 
 number of larva?, and a supply of pollen, moist- 
 ened with honey. These are chiefly the work of 
 the females, which, after depositing six or seven 
 eggs, carefully close the orifice, and the minutest in- 
 terstices with wax. Here the labours of the mo- 
 thers cease, and are succeeded by those of the 
 workers. These know the precise hour, when the 
 grubs have consumed their stock of honey, and 
 from that time, till they are fully grown, they re- 
 gularly feed them with either honey or pollen, 
 through a small hole in the cover of the cell, 
 which they open for the purpose, and afterwards 
 carefully close up. 
 
 As the grubs increase in size, the cells are split by 
 their exertion that they may be more at ease. The 
 foster-parents then fill the breaches with wax, and 
 thus the cells daily become larger. They also brood 
 over them at night, and by day when the weather 
 is cold, in order to impart the necessary warmth. 
 We owe to M. P. Huber the following singularly 
 curious anecdote connected with this part of their 
 domestic economy. 
 
 In the course of his numerous experiments, he 
 
JUNE. 235 
 
 put, under a glass bell, about a dozen humble bees, 
 without any store of wax. He gave them at the 
 same time a comb, with about ten silken cocoons, 
 but so unequal in height, that it was impossible 
 the mass could stand firmly. Its unsteadiness evi- 
 dently occasioned extreme disquietude. Affection 
 impelled them to cluster over the cocoons for the 
 sake of imparting warmth to the enclosed little 
 ones ; but in attempting this, the tottering of the 
 comb threatened a fearful downfall. What was 
 to be done ? the objects of their solicitude must 
 not be left to perish. Two or three bees instantly 
 mounted the tottering comb, stretched themselves 
 over its edges, and firmly fixed their fore feet on 
 the table, with their heads downwards, whilst with 
 their hind feet they kept it from falling. In this 
 constrained and painful posture, fresh bees reliev- 
 ing their weary comrades, did these affectionate 
 little insects support the comb for nearly three 
 days. At the end of this period, they had pre- 
 pared a sufficiency of wax, with which they erected 
 pillars, that kept it in a firm position. 
 
 From what source did this extraordinary adap- 
 tation of means to produce a desired effect result ? 
 from instinct ? Certainly not ; for instinct never 
 varies. Mere instinct could not obviate a diffi- 
 culty which had perhaps never occurred before, 
 since the creation. These little architects were 
 guided by that gleam of reason, which it has 
 
236 ANNALS OF MY VILLAGE. 
 
 pleased the Creator to assign them ; they dexte- 
 rously supported a tottering edifice till their waxen 
 pillars were in readiness. 
 
 The last duty of the affectionate foster-parents 
 is to assist the young bees in cutting open the co- 
 coons, which have enclosed them in a pupa state. 
 When emerged, the working bees turn even the 
 empty cocoons to a useful purpose. They cut off 
 the silken fragments from the orifice, strengthen it 
 by means of a ring or elevated tube of wax, and 
 coat them internally with a lining of the same ma- 
 terial. These, when completed, resemble small 
 goblet-like vessels, and are filled with honey or 
 pollen. 
 
 It is interesting to observe the assiduity of the 
 humble bees, when about to construct their little 
 citadel. They seek about for a soft flexile bed of 
 moss conveniently situated, and when found, five 
 or six of the strongest and most active place them- 
 selves upon it in a file, turning the hinder part of 
 their bodies towards the site of their intended 
 
JUNE. 237 
 
 erection. The first takes a small portion, which 
 it felts together with itsjaws and fore legs. When 
 the fibres are sufficiently entangled, it pushes them 
 beneath its body by means of the first pair of legs, 
 the intermediate pair receives the moss, and deli- 
 vers it to the last, which sends it as far back as 
 possible. A small ball of well-carded moss is 
 then formed, which the second bee also pushes to 
 its neighbour ; this consigns it to the next, and 
 thus it safely reaches the foot of the nest, much in 
 the same way as a file of labourers transfer a par- 
 cel of cheeses from a cart or vessel to a warehouse. 
 A great saving of time ensues from this well-con- 
 trived division of labour; the structure rises much 
 more rapidly than if each had been employed in 
 first carding his materials, and then transferring 
 them to the spot. 
 
 This curious structure contains, when com- 
 pleted, four orders of individuals. Large females, 
 original founders of the republic, the smaller ones 
 distinguished solely by their diminutive size, 
 males, and workers. They are quiet, affectionate 
 creatures, and seem to live in great harmony 
 among themselves, and in good will to their neigh- 
 bours. M. Huber relates a pleasing anecdote of 
 some hive-bees paying a visit to the nest of their 
 humble relatives, in order to steal or beg their 
 honey, which places in a strong light the good 
 
238 ANNALS OF MY VILLAGE. 
 
 temper of the latter. This happened in a time of 
 scarcity. The hive-bees had pillaged and taken 
 possession of the nest. A few of the residents, 
 that still remained, went out to collect provisions, 
 and brought home the surplus, after supplying their 
 immediate wants. This the hive-bees were also 
 desirous to obtain, but they could not procure it by 
 force. They began to lick the humble-bees, pre- 
 sented to them their probosces, surrounded and at 
 length persuaded them to part with the contents 
 of their honey-bags. The humble-bees then flew 
 away to collect a fresh supply. The hive-bees did 
 them no harm, they never offered to sting, and it 
 really seemed as if they had persuaded these good- 
 natured insects to supply their urgent wants. This 
 remarkable manoeuvre was practised for, at least, 
 three weeks, when a colony of wasps being at- 
 tracted by the same cause, the humble-bees 
 thought it time to leave the neighbourhood.* 
 
 The affection, which these interesting creatures 
 evince towards their young, is more permanent 
 than in many of the insect tribes. They accom- 
 pany them in their flight till they are fully grown, 
 and lead them to the pleasant labours of the honey 
 fields. I once saw an humble, or as it should be 
 called, an humming-bee, asleep in the rich crimson 
 corolla of a dahlia, with its foot firmly clasping a 
 * Hub. Nouv. Obserr. ii. 473. Hub. Lin. Tran. ii. 115, 298. 
 
JUNE. 239 
 
 little one, lest it should fall from its dangerous 
 elevation. They were pleasantly resting from 
 their morning toil, on a couch that art might 
 vainly attempt to equal. 
 
 Our meadows are now additionally enlivened 
 with the cranesbill, corn-poppy, and viper-bugloss ; 
 the fields and road-sides with mullein, fox-glove, 
 thistle, and mallow ; buck-beans and willow- 
 herbs flower profusely along the water side ; and 
 in thickets the wood-spurge and wood-pimpernel. 
 That singular plant, the bee-flower, is generally 
 open on the common ; and at Dudcombe, a single 
 tuft of the beautiful fly orches. 
 
240 ANNALS OF MY VILLAGE. 
 
 JULY. 
 
 ' Her task of daily labour done, 
 The wild bee to her hive was gone ; 
 The lark was in her grassy nest, 
 The bleating flocks were all at rest. 
 Close heap'd the tufted furze beside, 
 Or spread like scatter'd snow-flakes wide. 
 It was a picture of repose, 
 So perfect as if Nature chose, 
 By mortal eyes unseen alone, 
 To keep a sabbath of her own." 
 
 ELLEN FITZARTHUR. 
 
 DURING this sultry month, when most of the song- 
 birds are silent, and the flowers droop their heads 
 upon the ground, such nocturnal phenomena, as 
 attract the notice of the naturalist, may also in- 
 vite the lover of nature to contemplate them. 
 
 Reader, if you have never been abroad in the 
 depth of night, I counsel you to shake off the 
 sleep that weighs down your eyelids, to go forth 
 and to learn something of that world of stars and 
 moonbeams, of strange nocturnal creatures, and 
 
JULY. 241 
 
 little twinkling lights along the hedges, to which 
 your attention has never been directed. But if 
 the ups and downs of life should have cast your 
 lot in the thickly-thronged city, and you still retain 
 that inborn inextinguishable thirst of nature, 
 which its gay and busy scenes can never quench, 
 I may perhaps awake within you some faint re- 
 membrance of that period in early life, when the 
 moonbeams were sleeping on your own bright 
 fields, and all around were soothing images of 
 security and peace. 
 
 It was on such a night that this nocturnal ram- 
 ble seized us ; for I had then a friend, who now, I 
 trust, is brighter than the brightest of the glo- 
 rious constellations that glittered above our heads. 
 
 Myriads of nocturnal creatures were abroad ; 
 and while in most of the vegetable tribes, the 
 leaves or petals, disposing themselves in such a 
 manner, as to shelter the young stem, the bud or 
 fruit, either turned up or fell down, according as 
 this purpose rendered either position necessary, and 
 thus presented what is called the sleep of plants. 
 
 " Averse from evening's chilly breeze, 
 How many close their silken leaves, 
 
 To save the embryo flowers ; 
 As if ambitious of a name, 
 They sought to spread around their fame, 
 And bade the infant buds proclaim, 
 The parent's valued powers." 
 
 S. H. 
 
 E 
 
ANNALS OF MY VILLAGE. 
 
 Others, on the contrary, spread abroad their pe- 
 tals, and offered a rich vegetable banquet to the 
 thickly-coated phalenae, and such winged insects 
 as love the night. The evening primrose (ceon- 
 thera biennis) is one of these. A neighbouring 
 cottager was fond of this gay flower. When ask- 
 ed the reason of his preference, he used to say, 
 1* that it pleased him to think, how many way- 
 faring creatures found there a ready provision for 
 their nightly wants." 
 
 As we entered the garden, a host of winged 
 insects were seen hovering round the petals, 
 and on the southern border, a range of bee-hives 
 attracted our attention. There was something un- 
 usual in the movements of the sentinels, and on 
 looking narrowly, we could see them pacing to 
 and fro, with their antennae extended, and alter- 
 nately directed to the right and left. One of their 
 greatest enemies, the tinea mellonella, was hover- 
 ing round, and endeavouring to glide between the 
 guards, as if well knowing that they could not 
 discern objects in a strong light. In order to 
 gain her purpose, she cautiously avoided coming 
 in contact with their antennae, aware that should 
 she touch those sensitive organs, her life would 
 be quickly sacrificed. Yet still she strove to 
 enter, and might probably have gained her pur- 
 pose, but in a moment a short low hum was 
 
JULY. 
 
 heard ; in another, the hum became louder ; and 
 presently a host of working-bees were aroused 
 from their slumbers, and rushed forth. Well 
 may they watch and strive against the nightly 
 robber, which thus seeks to enter the hive, and de- 
 posit her eggs in the midst of the commonwealth. 
 The larvRe of the tinea are some of their most 
 deadly foes. They pass their time among the 
 combs, and continue their depredations undisturb- 
 ed by angry hummings or fierce stings : sheltered 
 in waxen tubes, lined with silken tapestry, so strong 
 and tense, that the most powerful bees cannot pe- 
 netrate them. Occasionally, they commit such 
 extensive ravages, that the poor spoiled inhabi- 
 tants have been forced to quit their hives. 
 
 Loud humming sounds were also heard along 
 the hedge ; the nocturnal buz of gnats, and the 
 boom of beetles, which hurried by, as if they 
 feared to be benighted. It was curious to listen 
 to these ceaseless hums, to watch the busy move- 
 ments of numerous ephemerae, that spring to life, 
 when the day closes in, and finish their brief ex- 
 istence before the rising sun. Innumerable cleop- 
 tera, moths, and insects of other orders, had also 
 left their hiding-places during the silence of the 
 night. The caribi were prowling about in quest 
 of prey, and water-beetles (dytisci and gyrini) 
 forsook their native element, and mounted on 
 
 B 2 
 
244 ANNALS OF MY VILLAGE. 
 
 strumming wings into the air. Had it been possi- 
 ble to follow the multitudes in their aerial courses, 
 what interesting and curious scenes, what extraor- 
 dinary instincts, what admirable adaptations to 
 different localities and circumstances would have 
 been conspicuous ! 
 
 As we turned into a meadow, the ceaseless hum- 
 ming of these busy tribes was still more percepti- 
 ble. The common cockchafer, and that which ap- 
 pears at the summer solstice, (melolontha vulgaris 
 and solstitialis) filled the air over the trees and 
 hedges, with their myriads and their hum. We 
 could scarcely move without coming in contact 
 with several, whose angry boomings frequently an- 
 nounced how much they were displeased at the 
 intrusion. 
 
 There, too, a colony of field crickets (acheta 
 campestris) had fixed their abode. Night and si- 
 lence seemed to give them additional security. 
 Their cheerful summer voices made the hills echo, 
 while they awoke within us the thought of a joy- 
 ous community of creatures, widely differing from 
 ourselves, yet pleased and busy. Sitting at the 
 entrance of the caverns, which they had excavated 
 on a steep acclivity, they chirped as merrily by 
 moonlight, as in the brightest days, and their loud 
 shrillings were pleasingly contrasted with the still- 
 ness of that lone place. Their cells are elegantly 
 
JULY. 
 
 shaped, and you may see them busy about the en- 
 trances, at the latter end of March : their notes 
 are then faint and inward, but they become louder 
 during the warm months, and die away by de- 
 grees. It is therefore probable, that they lethar- 
 gize in the winter season, or else lay up a stock of 
 provisions, to preclude the necessity of stirring 
 much abroad. But few particulars can be ascer- 
 tained concerning their mode of life : they are na- 
 turally shy and cautious : if any one approaches, 
 they suddenly drop their song, and retire nimbly 
 into the recesses of their caverns. 
 
 We next proceeded through a deep shady lane, 
 overhung and guarded with high forest trees and 
 underwood; and though the lane was dark, the 
 moonbeams glided so softly between the scarcely 
 moving leaves, that we had sufficient light to find 
 our way. Glow-worms lighted their lamps on 
 either side. They looked like moving sparks in 
 the damp moss ; and to those who wished to con- 
 template the chemistry, as well as the mechanism 
 of nature, these insects afforded an example. 
 
 Every one, who is much abroad in the fine eve- 
 nings of this warm month, most propably knows 
 that the female glow-worm, (lampyris noctiluca,) 
 which somewhat resembles a caterpillar, though 
 more depressed, is endowed with the faculty of 
 extinguishing its signal light, on the approach of 
 
246 ANNALS 01' MY VILLAGE. 
 
 nocturnal birds ; that it can also trim its little 
 lamp to unwonted brilliancy, and that its ineffec- 
 tual fire is generally extinguished about eleven or 
 twelve at night. The male, on the contrary, is a 
 winged erratic creature, rarely to be met with, 
 and therefore a prize to the ornithologist. It also 
 emits a dim light in flying, from four luminous 
 spots, and is margined round the head with a 
 horny band or plate, which impedes the view of 
 lateral objects, and prevents all upward vision. 
 
 How many greenwood legends are associated 
 with the bright twinkling light of the female 
 glow-worm ! How often does it bring to mind 
 
 ".. - " Those fairy elves, 
 
 Whose midnight revels by a forest side 
 Or fountain, some belated peasant sees, 
 Or dreams he sees, while over head the moon 
 Sits arbitress, and nearer to the earth 
 Wheels her pale course." 
 
 MILTON. 
 
 But it is not only on green mossy banks, amid 
 lanes and meadows, that this bright twinkling 
 light awakens the most pleasing recollections. We 
 remember walking one sultry June evening on 
 that wild path, which leads across Linton's magni- 
 ficent range of mural rocks, towards the valley. 
 The deep weltering roar of ocean, and the loud 
 :cry of sea-fowls returning to their nests, were the 
 
JULY. S47 
 
 only sounds, that broke upon the stillness of the 
 place ; while grey twilight gave an indescribable 
 character of vastness and obscurity to the giant 
 masses of bare projecting rocks, and to the billows, 
 that toiled and heaved at their base. On turning a 
 sharp corner, a solitary glow-worm was seen among 
 the short grass. Surrounded by sights and sounds 
 of grandeur and obscurity, with immeasurable 
 depth beneath, and immeasurable height above, 
 and with that bright lonely light in the damp 
 herbage, how striking was the contrast how im- 
 pressive were the feelings it excited ! How came 
 that little insect in such a wild deserted spot? 
 There were neither shady lanes, nor fields in the 
 immediate neighbourhood. Who took thought 
 for its protection ? who so wonderfully constructed 
 it ? who guided its insect steps to the spot, where 
 perhaps clustered the aphicl8e,or grew the grass, that 
 served to support it ? " That same great Being, 
 who hath measured the waters in the hollow of his 
 hand, who meted out the heavens with a span, 1 '* 
 and fixed the everlasting hills: for by Him all 
 tilings were made, cattle, creeping things, and 
 fowls that fly above the earth for his glory they 
 are, and were created. 
 
 We have since often seen these brilliant insects 
 in our own green lanes, at evening, or by moon- 
 
 * Isaiah xl. 12. 
 
248 ANNALS OF MY VILLAGE. 
 
 light, but never with such feelings, as were then 
 excited by the little Linton glow-worm. Yet 
 they are rarely to be met with near the village, 
 though numerous on the mossy banks of Birdlip- 
 wood. Several have been brought at different 
 times into the garden, where they uniformly se- 
 lected a dry bank covered with strawberries. It 
 was pleasing to watch the little twinkling lights, as 
 they appeared and disappeared among the dark 
 green leaves, or sprung from one to the other a 
 movement which seemed extraordinary in a crea- 
 ture so little adapted for agile locomotion. But 
 in the course of a short time, my glow-worms were 
 seen traversing the garden-walk, that led to an 
 adjoining meadow. It was useless -to bring them 
 back ; that meadow and its mossy banks afforded 
 an irresistible attraction, and by degrees they all 
 disappeared. 
 
 On leaving the dark lane, we emerged into the 
 full moonshine. A valley lay in front, surrounded 
 with gently swelling hills, and beech-woods. 
 Now a little white cottage met the eye, then a 
 sheep-fold, again a meadow, in which the cattle 
 were sleeping on the grass ; further down, a vil- 
 lage, with its grey church-tower, an old farm- 
 house, and an ancient rookery. Not a sound was 
 heard, except that of the rolling of waters, and the 
 distant chiming of a cathedral, which came from a 
 
JULY. 24<9 
 
 distance on the ear. As we passed the church- 
 yard, its tall white tombstones stood cold and 
 clear in the moonbeams, and a grey-coated bat 
 wheeled round and round, 
 
 How striking was the contrast between the 
 active pursuits of day, and the deep and touching 
 silence of the night ! A few hours before, all was 
 bustle and activity. The business of the farm 
 had not concluded ; in some of the fields, people 
 were employed in hoeing turnips, and potatoes ; in 
 others, weeding the fallows : in one, the hay- 
 makers plied their pleasant labours ; in another, 
 the farmer witnessed the cutting down of his 
 peas, now, not a moving object met the eye. 
 The turnips, and potatoes, grass, and corn, every 
 useful herb, or tree, received the soft dew, as it 
 silently descended on the earth. Neither was 
 there any sound of bees about the hive ; the little 
 birds had ceased their warbling, the chickens 
 were gathered under the wing of the hen, and the 
 hen herself was at rest. 
 
 While surveying the beautiful moonlight scene 
 of hills and valleys, populous towns and hamlets, 
 that were spread like a map before us, the dark 
 vault of heaven, studded " with hieroglyphics 
 older than the Nile," seemed to rest on the circling 
 hills, of which the outlines were distinguishable in 
 the clear moonshine. How kind and wise ap- 
 
250 ANNALS OF MY VILLAGE. 
 
 peared the solace of refreshing slumber ; how won- 
 derful the relation of sleep to night, and the revo- 
 lution of the earth upon her axis ! All that had 
 lived and moved around us through the busy day, 
 were then calmly resting upon their beds : but the 
 lovely scene did not want spectators 
 
 " Millions of spiritual creatures walk the earth 
 Unseen, both when we wake and when we sleep : 
 All these with ceaseless praise His work behold 
 Both day and night." 
 
 MILTON. 
 
 Nor were the unconscious sleepers unprotected. 
 All, all, were safe beneath the care of Him, by 
 whom the worlds were made, whose ever wakeful 
 eye was then around our paths, whose power sus- 
 tained the feeblest insect, that slept beside us on 
 the grass. 
 
 A few days after, we again visited the same 
 scene. All now was cheerfulness and animation. 
 The little gardens, on which the moon had shone 
 so full and clear, presented a pleasing assemblage 
 of fruits and flowers. Raspberry, currant, and 
 gooseberry-bushes grew beside the pathways, 
 with tufts of strawberries : acceptable and cooling 
 fruits, which ripen during the hottest months, and 
 are equally salutary and grateful to the constitu- 
 tion, when the air is heated by a fierce summer sun. 
 " Ah, Monsieur, the first consul," said Madame 
 
JULY. 251 
 
 Helvetius, in answer to a question of Buona- 
 parte, when walking one day with him, " you 
 little know how much happiness a person may 
 enjoy upon three acres of land." She spoke only 
 of the pleasures which a cultivated mind derives 
 from embellishing a spot of ground, and from 
 bringing together, within a narrow compass, the 
 beautiful productions of either zone. But even 
 the small cottage-gardens comprise within them 
 sources of health, thankfulness, and pleasure, 
 which are unknown to the disturbers of mankind : 
 
 " From hence the country markets are supplied, 
 Enough remains for household charge beside, 
 Their wives and tender children to sustain, 
 And gratefully to feed the dumb deserving train." 
 
 GEORGICS. 
 
 You may see the labourers at work early in 
 the morning, before the general labour of the day 
 commences ; again late in the evening, when, also, 
 as Hooker beautifully observes, they may see 
 God's blessing spring out of the ground, and eat 
 their bread in privacy and peace. 
 
 What a succession of herbs and flowers, of 
 fruits and esculents, are comprised in these little 
 gardens, and how striking is their structure and 
 appropriation ! Some kinds of herbs and fruits 
 are gathered early in the spring, others during the 
 hot months, at the approach of autumn, and in 
 
ANNALS OF MY VILLAGE. 
 
 winter. Among the former, a three-fold purpose 
 is observable: they supply the wants of man, 
 purify the air, and serve by their falling leaves 
 to enrich the soil, that nourishes them. Among 
 the latter, a similar purpose may be discerned. 
 The eatable part of a cherry, gooseberry, or cur- 
 rant, first perfects the seed or kernel, by means of 
 vessels passing through the stone. When these 
 are fully grown, the stone, or envelope, begins to 
 harden, and the vessels cease their functions. 
 But then the substance, which thus ministered to 
 their increase and perfection, is not thrown away 
 as useless. Its ministry has ceased : it now re- 
 ceives and retains the ripening influence of the 
 sun, and becomes a grateful food to man. How 
 admirable, too, is the appropriation of what we call 
 the stone, or that hard covering which envelopes 
 the tender currant-seed ! How wonderfully adapt- 
 ed to prevent the ripening pulp from injuring the 
 sacred particle, the miniature plant it was origi- 
 nally designed to nourish and protect ! 
 
 While observing and commenting on the various 
 productions of these little gardens, beautiful but- 
 terflies, warmed by the sun, came sporting from 
 one flower to another, or rested on the fragrant 
 lavender bushes, which our " gudewives" are fond 
 of cultivating. The white, or sulphur butterfly, 
 (gonepteryx rhamni,) the earliest birth of the 
 
JULY. 253 
 
 spring; the marble butterfly, (papilio galathea,) 
 and the brown meadow butterfly, (papiliojanira,) 
 were seen hovering from one tuft to another, now 
 skirmishing in the air, and now opening and 
 closing their gay golden-coloured pinions in the 
 sun-beams, to warm and cool their slender bodies. 
 That tribe of little butterflies, which are called 
 blues, also flitted round us in our summer ramble, 
 as we passed from the garden into an adjacent 
 meadow, and exhibited an endless variety of tints. 
 Among these, the lyccena adonis scarcely yields to 
 any exotic butterfly in the celestial purity of its 
 azure wings. We also observed several species of 
 our native copper-coloured butterflies, remarkable 
 for their fulgid hues, and the burnished silver 
 spots that vary and adorn them. This metallic 
 lustre is occasioned, probably, by the striking con- 
 trast of a pure and shining white with the dull 
 opaque colour of the under surface of the secondary 
 wings. The vanissio shone still more gloriously : 
 her wings emulated the many-coloured eyes, with 
 which the peacock and argus pheasant are decked 
 by their Creator. In the same meadow were 
 several small white butterflies : these, though 
 colourless, were often rendered extremely beauti- 
 ful from the reflection of the prismatic rays. 
 
 While observing the ceaseless evolutions, the 
 surprising grace and lustre of such light, eva- 
 
254 ANNALS OF MY VILLAGE. 
 
 nescent, flitting creatures, and contrasting their 
 present with their past condition, it very forci- 
 bly occurred to us, that invisible things are 
 often beautifully shadowed forth by the works of 
 nature. 
 
 A few weeks since, these creatures of light and 
 air crawled along the earth, unsightly to the eye, 
 and sustained by ordinary food. They were then 
 wound up in a kind of shroud, encased in a coffin, 
 and buried either beneath the earth, in water, or 
 in the bark of trees. Thus they continued, till, 
 called forth by the warm sunbeams at an ap- 
 pointed period, they cast off their cerements, and 
 burst from their sepulchres, adorned with every 
 imaginable grace and beauty, and borne on bur- 
 nished wings through the soft air. They seemed, 
 as if designed to shadow forth the blessed inhabi- 
 tants of happier worlds of angels and the spirits 
 of the just emerged to perfection. Who can 
 survey all this without acknowledging a lively 
 representation of man in his three-fold state ? 
 more especially, of that great day, when those 
 that are in the graves shall come forth at the 
 awakening voice of the Son of God; when the 
 nations of the redeemed, all glorious, and all happy, 
 shall rejoice together, through the boundless ages 
 of eternity. 
 
 As we proceeded along the meadows, and then 
 
JULY. 255 
 
 upon the village common, beautiful flowers at- 
 tracted our notice. The first and second gene- 
 ration had passed away, and a different race suc- 
 ceeded them in the meadows, and on hedge-banks. 
 They were such as require the full influence of 
 the sunbeams, to bring them to perfection, and are, 
 consequently, most abundant in situations, and at 
 seasons, when the warmth is greatest. Many um- 
 belliferous plants, as the wild carrot and hemlock, 
 were in flower ; sedums, also, and cotyledons, that 
 cover old walls and stony banks ; and aquatic and 
 marsh plants, as bullrush, water-lily, marsh St. 
 John's wort, and yellow flag ; the compound flow- 
 ered races, as thistles, and sowthistles, blue-bottles, 
 hawkweeds, and wild camomile, grew profusely 
 along the borders of the corn fields ; and there, 
 too, wild thyme and marjoram, red campions, or 
 lychnis,* scarlet poppies, and the elegant pasture 
 scabious, still mingled their fragrance and their 
 bloom. The blue head of this last favourite flower 
 is peculiarly attractive to the gamma moth (pha- 
 loena gamma). As we stood to observe its move- 
 ments, the dark wings, which it keeps, while feed- 
 ing, in a constant state of vibration, were beauti- 
 fully relieved with a white impression of the letter 
 
 * Lychnis, from Xvxvos, a lamp ; alluding to its flame-coloured 
 and flickering petals ; or, as others conjecture, from the resem- 
 blance of the semi-transparent calyx to a lantern. 
 
256 
 
 ANNALS OF MY VILLAGE. 
 
 Y, or rather, with a small Greek gamma and 
 hence its name. We also observed the meadow- 
 sweet and fumitory, the pimpernel and blue cam- 
 panula, on hedge-banks ; and in some neighbour- 
 ing gardens, nasturtiums and white lilies, golden- 
 rods and sunflowers, produced a beautiful effect. 
 In these, too, the neat potatoe furrows, with beds 
 of marigold and camomile, recalled to mind the 
 industry of the old Corycian swain, 
 
 " Who lab'ring well his little spot of ground, 
 
 Some scatt'ring pot-herbs here and there he found : 
 
 Till well manur'd he gather'd first of all, 
 
 In spring the roses, apples in the fall. 
 
 Who knew to rank his elms in even rows, 
 
 For fruit the grafted pear-tree to dispose, 
 
 And tame to plumbs the sourness of the sloes." 
 
 GEORGICS iv. 
 
 The cottage-porch was also occasionally en- 
 twined with luxuriant clusters of the hop, (humur- 
 lus lupulus,) to which the ladybird, (cocdnella 
 septempunctata-J resorts as to an annual banquet ; 
 that beautiful little insect which rivals the wren 
 and redbreast in the affections of our village chil- 
 dren, and like them is regarded with a kind of super- 
 stitious feeling throughout Europe. Woe to the 
 little French or Italian peasant, who should crush 
 or injure one in passing. Ladybirds are the sheep 
 of the Holy Virgin, and she would resent the 
 least indignity offered to her blameless flock. 
 
JULY. 257 
 
 With us, the child, who cruelly spins a cockchafer, 
 avoids treading on this favourite insect, and I 
 have often seen one of our little villagers carefully 
 assign it to the hedge as a place of safety, or if 
 captured, give it liberty, while repeating the well- 
 known couplet, 
 
 " Ladybird, ladybird, fly away home, 
 Thy house is on fire, and children at home." 
 
 These beautiful little insects are invaluable in 
 the hop-grounds. They pursue the aphides, 
 which, under the name of fly, frequently destroy 
 the hope of an abundant harvest, with as much 
 avidity, as the thrush-eating locust consumes the 
 insect whose name it bears ; and such is the havoc 
 they occasion, that it is calculated, one of these 
 little amazons will destroy thousands and tens of 
 thousands to her share. Their arrival is there- 
 fore anxiously expected by the hop-growers, who 
 employ boys to drive away such birds as prey 
 upon them, Wherever the wild or cultivated 
 hop is found, thither the ladybirds repair; we 
 have the former in our lanes, and I have some- 
 times seen the asparagus beds nearly covered with 
 these gay-coated insects, at which time we always 
 hear of their being abundant in the hop counties. 
 During the hot summer of 1807, the southern 
 coasts were literally covered with troops of lady- 
 
258 
 
 ANNALS OF MY VILLAGE. 
 
 birds, which had emigrated from the neighbouring 
 hop-grounds. The visitors, unused to their ap- 
 pearance, regarded them with some little degree 
 of surprise, and a few considered them as pre- 
 cursors of calamity. Sidmouth, also, was visited 
 with a numerous flight in the summer of 187, and 
 it was amusing to observe the predilection they 
 evinced for different colours. Such ladies as wore 
 green were spangled with them, but very few 
 were observed to settle on a fawn-coloured dress. 
 
 As we proceeded from one field to another, up 
 the breezy hill, and through that beautiful little 
 wood-walk, which leads to the Coxshead, the day 
 became extremely sultry, the flowers began to 
 droop their heads upon the ground, the little birds 
 ceased their songs, and the cattle sought the 
 shelter of the trees. Small groups of sheep might 
 be seen standing in a circle, with their heads to- 
 gether, a mode they frequently adopt during the 
 hottest hours of the day, or when the fly annoys 
 them. The neighbouring farmers have a right of 
 pasturage on the common, and it is curious to 
 observe that the individuals of two separate flocks 
 never associate for mutual help. Soon, not a leaf 
 was heard to rustle on the trees, and the hum of 
 innumerable insects, which are always most alert 
 and active in thundery weather, gave notice of a 
 tempest 
 
JULY. 
 
 259 
 
 " A fierce, loud, buzzing race ; their stings draw blood, 
 And send the cattle gadding thro' the wood." 
 
 GEORGICS. 
 
 The fear of the approaching storm drove us for 
 shelter to the nearest cottage ; it was pleasantly 
 situated in a shady lane, and afforded a striking 
 instance of how much may be accomplished by in- 
 dustry and good conduct. The owner was a day- 
 labourer. I cannot exactly say what his earnings 
 were, but the income of the family could not ex- 
 ceed twelve shillings per week. On this, with 
 sobriety and economy, they contrived to live com- 
 fortably, for the father never spent his evenings 
 at the ale-house, and his wife was an industrious 
 and active woman ; hence the children looked 
 healthy, cheerful, and well-fed. The cottage was 
 white-washed, and a sweet-briar and honeysuckle 
 twined round the door ; the inside displayed a neat 
 set of china, the housewife's pride, in a corner- 
 cupboard ; a high-back leather chair for the gude- 
 man; and the " auld family Bible" on a bright- 
 rubbed oaken stand ; the furniture, though coarse, 
 was clean, and various little ornaments upon the 
 walls afforded pleasing indications, that the sole 
 attention of the family was not anxiously devoted 
 to obtaining their daily bread. 
 
 There was also a pig in the stye, and a well-filled 
 rabbit-box under the shed. Happy the English 
 
260 ANNALS OF MY VILLAGE. 
 
 peasant, who is thus enabled to stock his little 
 plot of ground ! The wax and honey, which his 
 bees produce will generally clear his rent ; four 
 rabbits are calculated to supply a dish of meat 
 every three days in the year they are kept at a 
 trifling expense, and may even be fatted with 
 roots, good green food, and hay. The porcine 
 race are equally productive, and the consumption 
 and demand keep pace together. The ease, too, 
 with which these animals are brought up and fed, 
 render them peculiarly advantageous to the lower 
 orders of society. Nor is it too much to assert, 
 that in our own village, and among the scattered 
 hamlets and cottages, that give animation to the 
 landscape, there are few, who might not contrive, 
 with good management, to keep a pig, and thus 
 to obtain a cheap and nutritious diet, independent 
 of the profit, that accrues from the lard and fat. 
 In ancient times, our woods were peopled with this 
 ungainly race ; but now, that the labours of the 
 shepherd or husbandman have superseded those of 
 the forester and swineherd, the peasant is allowed 
 to turn his sheep upon the common ; as in olden 
 times, the villain sent forth his pigs to banquet in 
 those now denuded districts, once tracts of what 
 the popular poetry of the country denominated 
 the " good green wood." 
 
261 
 
 AUGUST. 
 
 " Eternal Power ! from whom all blessings flow, 
 Teach me still more to wonder, more to know : 
 Seed-time and harvest let me see again ; 
 Wander the leaf-strewn wood, the autumn plain : 
 Let the first flower, corn-waving field, plain, tree, 
 Here round my home, still lift my thoughts to Thee ; 
 And let me ever, 'midst thy bounties, raise 
 An humble note of thankfulness and praise." 
 
 BLOOMFIELD. 
 
 A RICH field of waving corn affords, at this season 
 of the year, the most agreeable spectacle in nature. 
 We have one at a small distance from the village, 
 of singular and romantic beauty. It is situated 
 on the declivity of a gently swelling hill, crowned 
 with a deep beech- wood ; on the left appears a 
 fine extensive sweep of richly cultivated country, 
 with Ostorius's ancient mount rising like a beacon 
 in the centre ; to the right, extends one of those 
 sunny copses that seem the haunt, and shelter of 
 every dappled insect, and bright blossoming flower, 
 skirted by a narrow winding path, that leads into 
 
ANNALS OF MY VILLAGE. 
 
 a deep thicket, through the waving branches x>f 
 which, when the wind is high, you may discover 
 the neat white cottages of a neighbouring hamlet : 
 a low hedge, entwined with honeysuckles, ladies- 
 seals, and woody-nightshade, forms the eastern 
 boundary; below this, a green field slopes into 
 the vale, where a little river shines out at intervals, 
 in its shady course, and an ancient castellated 
 farm-house tells of other days, when the peasant 
 drove his hurried cattle into the inner-court at 
 night, and belted knights and fierce retainers 
 " rode that proper place about." Green sloping 
 fields rise rapidly from the valley, and afford an 
 open view of a rich pasture, and corn country, 
 studded with farm-houses, cottages, and hamlets. 
 In one, the waving corn is falling before the 
 reaper's hand, while his wife is binding up the 
 sheaves, and the children dance around, crowned 
 with garlands of cockles* and wild poppies; in 
 another, the compact sheaves stand ready for the 
 farmer's barn. 
 
 Even the pathway that leads through the field 
 presents an appearance peculiar to itself. Heavy 
 waggons, and the tread of horses' feet, when em- 
 ployed in drawing timber, have worn it below the 
 surface, but the banks are mantled with grass and 
 
 * Agrostemma, from aypos, a field ; and o-Teyu/io, a coronet ; as if 
 the coronet of the field. 
 
AUGUST. 
 
 flowers, where you may hear the grasshopper sing 
 welcome, as you pass. There grows self-heal, and 
 feverfew, wild-baum, and many other " gently 
 breathing plants," with which grave herbalists and 
 housewives cured, in other days, the ailments of 
 their neighbours. There, too, spring Timothy 
 grass and wild Basil ; herbs Robert, Paris, Ben- 
 net, Christopher, and Gerard, sweet Marjoram, 
 Cicely, and William ; names, by which the good 
 old simplers commemorated worth or friendship ; 
 or the neighbouring villagers loved to associate 
 with the memory of benefactors, whose skill or 
 kindness might be shadowed forth in the virtues 
 of their favourite plants. The benefactors are de- 
 parted ; the herbalists and grateful villagers are 
 gone ; the memory of their loves and friendships, 
 of their gentle virtues, who they were, and why 
 such names were given, are also past ; but the 
 botanist likes to look on these memorial plants, 
 and even the village matron, when she names or 
 gathers them, associates, though she cannot tell 
 you why, a feeling with those flowers, which no 
 other in the field or hedge-row can elicit. 
 
 Along that bank, also, grow the corn sow- 
 thistle, (sonchus arvensis,) so dear to weary 
 labourers, because it follows the sun's course, and 
 folds up its large golden petals at noon ; the 
 mouse-ear hawkweed, (hieracium pilosella,) that 
 
ANNALS OF MY VILLAGE. 
 
 
 
 announces their breakfast hour ; the scarlet pim- 
 pernel (anagallis arvensis,) when their work is 
 done ; the yellow goat's-beard, (tragopogon pra- 
 tensis,) closing between nine and ten; the strong- 
 scented lettuce, (lactuca virosa,) opening at seven. 
 The weary ploughman often leaves his horses to 
 look on these time-pieces of Nature's making, and 
 harvest-men love to sit by them, when they rest 
 from their work at noon. 
 
 Linna?us formed from such flowers, an Horo- 
 logium Florae, or botanical clock. 
 
 " 'Twas a lovely thought to mark the hours, 
 
 As they floated in light away, 
 By the opening and the folding flowers, 
 That laugh to the summer's day. 
 
 " Thus had each moment its own rich hue, 
 
 And its graceful cup or bell ; 
 In whose coloured vase might sleep the dew, 
 Like a pearl in an ocean shell. 
 
 " To such sweet signs might the time have flow'd 
 
 In a golden current on, 
 Ere from the garden, man's first abode, 
 The glorious guests were gone. 
 
 " Yet is not life, in its real flight, 
 
 Mark'd thus even thus on earth, 
 By the closing of one hope's delight, 
 And another's gentle birth ? 
 
 " Oh ! let us live, so that flower by flower, 
 
 Shutting in turn, may leave 
 A lingerer still for the sun-set hour, 
 A charm for the faded eve." 
 
 MRS. HEMANS. 
 
AUGUST. 265 
 
 I may also notice the corn-flower, and forget- 
 me-not, or marsh mouse-ear, as very observable 
 in our favourite field. The first ( centaur ea* 
 
 cyanus) is exquisitely beautiful. " Observe 
 
 the corn flower," said the elegant author of 6 Flora 
 Domestica,' " what a coronet of sky-blue flowers ! 
 every floret a fairy vase, in the depth of which 
 Nature prepares sweet nectar for the butterfly and 
 the bee ! But when these have disappeared, there 
 is beauty also in the winged children, which they 
 have left, rocking each other in its green cradle. 
 In some species, these winged offspring are pecu- 
 liarly beautiful ; they seem like fairies' shuttle- 
 cocks, elegantly variegated at the base, and set 
 with delicate feathers of a jet black ; so delicate 
 are these feathers, that to the unassisted eye they 
 show like rays. Then examine how the pistil is 
 affixed to its centre ; how one minute part is 
 fitted to another, with a nicety of mechanism so 
 finished, so beautiful ! What human hand could 
 form one seed like this ? this little seed, which, 
 in its minute and exquisite perfection, is scattered 
 abroad by thousands, unnoticed and unseen !" 
 Our charming plant was named Cyanus after a 
 youthful devotee of Flora, who loved to loiter in 
 the fields, and to weave garlands with this and 
 
 * From the centaur Chiron, who is said to have established 
 the reputation of this plant as a vulnerary. 
 
266 
 
 ANNALS OF MY VILLAGE. 
 
 other flowers: perchance, permitting a truant 
 thought to wander into a tender strain, though 
 never inspiring sweeter lays than those of the 
 English improvisatrice 
 
 " There is a flower, a purple flower, 
 Sown by the wind, nursed by the shower, 
 O'er which Love has breathed a powerful spell, 
 The truth of whispering hope to tell. 
 Now, gentle flower, I pray thee tell, 
 If my lover loves me, and loves me well j 
 So may the fall of the morning dew 
 Keep the sun from fading tby tender blue." 
 
 And as the cyanus delights in heat, so the for- 
 get-me-not (myosofis* palustris) fringes a springy 
 bank. Many pleasing associations are connected 
 with this little flower : it is pre-eminent among 
 
 ..." Those that tell 
 What words can never speak so well." 
 
 Nor has history been silent in its praise. Mills 
 informs us, in his " History of Chivalry ," that on 
 occasion of a joust between the Bastard of Bur- 
 gundy and Lord Scales, (brother to the Queen of 
 Edward IV.) on the 17th of April, 1465, the 
 ladies of the court, in a mood of harmless merri- 
 ment, attached a collar of gold, enamelled with 
 these brilliant little flowers, to the right worship- 
 
 * From two Greek words, signifying a mouse and an ear j 
 alluding to the soft and erect smaller leaves. 
 
AUGUST. 67 
 
 ful English knight, for an emprise of arms, on 
 horseback and on foot." This historical fact 
 proves the admiration, in which the myosotis was 
 held even during the fair and courteous days of 
 chivalry ; but the origin of the sentiment, asso- 
 ciated with it, is of remote antiquity, and stands 
 briefly thus recorded. Two lovers were loitering 
 on the margin of a lake, during a fine summer's 
 evening, when the damsel espied an attractive 
 cluster of these floral gems growing close to the 
 water, on the bank of an island. She expressed a 
 desire to possess them, and her knight gallantly 
 sprung into the lake, breasted its broad stream, 
 and gathered the wished-for plant ; but, alas I his 
 strength proved unequal, and he could not re- 
 gain the shore. With one last effort, he threw 
 the flowers on the bank, and casting an affec- 
 tionate look to the affrighted maiden, he ex- 
 claimed, u Forget me not !" and sunk to rise 
 no more. 
 
 Pour exprimer 1'amour, ces fleurs semblent clorre ; 
 Leur langage est un mot mais il est plein d'appas ! 
 Dans la main des amans elles disent encor : 
 Aimez moi, ne rn'oubliez pas. 
 
 A contented mind has very little to desire be- 
 yond the precincts of such a field, as the one, which 
 has given rise to this digression : the cottager may 
 find there all those harmless luxuries, which hte 
 
268 AXXALS OF MY VILLAGE. 
 
 richer neighbour purchases at a costly price. The 
 roasted roots of dandelion furnish a beverage, 
 hardly inferior to the best coffee ; the strongly 
 aromatic flowers of sweet woodroof, when properly 
 gathered and dried in the shade, excel in flavour 
 the exotic herbs of China ; the juice of the 
 maple affords fine white sugar, and the white 
 beam-hawthorn an ardent spirit. Ancient sim- 
 plers knew of all these dainties : when they wished 
 to give a higher relish to their viands, they sought 
 only for the poor man's pepper and wild mustard ; 
 busy housewives found plenty of cheese-rennet in 
 the hedge ; with this, too, they could tinge their 
 wool of a fine yellow. The tender blanched leaves 
 of dandelion, sauce alone, and common mustard, 
 supplied the place of modern salads ; good chil- 
 dren were treated with wind-berries and milk, and 
 tarts were made from blackberries. They kept 
 off moths with the leaves of southern-wood, with 
 flea-bane, those restless, troublesome visitors, whose 
 name it bears ; banished mice from their granaries 
 with the green leaves of dwarf elder ; dyed their 
 home-spun stuffs of fairy green with the juice of 
 nettles ; and struck a light with tinder made from 
 the downy under surface of the common colts- 
 foot. Nor had they need to cultivate exotic 
 strangers for either beauty or perfume, when their 
 own bright fields and meadows yielded such 
 
AUGUST. 269 
 
 flowers as the eye-bright, gold-of-pleasure, Jacobus 
 ladder, pleasant in sight, simpler's joy, and wild 
 amaranth. With these the hearth on Sunday was 
 duly pranked, and at harvest home, the windows. 
 Then they had rattles for the children, and harm- 
 less rockets ; and posies of thyme and thrift were 
 sent to speed the newly married couple. 
 
 It was pleasant to see how the whole corn-field 
 swarmed with joyous creatures, that either on foot 
 or wing passed swiftly among the flowers and high 
 waving grain. 
 
 Harvest-mice were also frequent guests. 
 Wherever the husbandman has overcome the na- 
 tural sterility of the soil, or fostered its fertility, 
 these active creatures profit by his labours, and 
 appropriate the fruit of his industry. But how, 
 it may be asked, can they reach the ripened grain, 
 for the stalk is not firm enough to support their 
 weight, and a field of waving corn is to them a 
 forest, of which the topmost ear is hardly visi- 
 ble. In order to obtain the grain which consti- 
 tutes their greatest luxury, they ingeniously cut 
 the stalk near the root, and thus the prostrate ear 
 affords them a ready banquet. They also follow 
 the reapers, and eat the fallen grain; but when 
 the gleanings are devoured, they flock to the new- 
 sown fields, and banquet on the crops of the en- 
 suing year. In winter the bands separate, and 
 
270 ANNALS OF MY VILLAGE. 
 
 unless impelled by hunger to prey one on the 
 other, they live contentedly on filberts, acorns, the 
 seeds of trees, and tuberous roots : such as the 
 dandelion, which they dig beneath the snow. 
 Their apartments are generally divided into two, 
 but they are neither deep nor spacious. In these 
 they bring up their young, and it often happens 
 that several families reside together. 
 
 The little freebooters are also injurious to young 
 plantations, by carrying off the new-sown acorns, 
 when the snow lies deep upon the ground, and 
 the usual supplies begin to fail. Husbandmen, in- 
 wardly vexed to see long unproductive furrows, 
 where they expected the broad leaves of the young 
 green oaks, place traps at the distance of about 
 ten paces through the extent of the sown field. 
 These traps are flat stones, supported by a stick, 
 and baited with a roasted walnut : the unwary 
 mouse, preferring the dainty viands to his usual 
 homely fare, sits down to the repast, and, while 
 thinking of nothing less than treachery, is in a 
 moment crushed to death by the falling of the 
 stone. Poor hapless little mouse ! how many are 
 thy enemies ! how many begrudge thee thy acorn 
 and hollow tree ! 
 
 Leverets, too, hide beneath the corn, and in a 
 summer evening you may hear occasionally the 
 shrill cry of the female partridge calling to her 
 
AUGUST. 
 
 young, the ceaseless hum of the droning bee, and 
 the field-cricket's cry of joy. 
 
 But when the sickle is put in, and the corn 
 begins to fall beneath the reaper's hand, all the 
 busy crowds are gone. Not a glancing wing is 
 seen, not a light footstep heard, through all that 
 field. One retreats to the sunny copse, another 
 shelters in the hedge-row, a third hastens to the 
 wood ; some are seen darting through the quiver- 
 ing blades in the next meadow, others climb the 
 scarry bank, covered with blue-bells and wild 
 juniper; even grey lichens, moss, and fern, afford 
 to several insect emigrants a shelter, where they 
 chirp as merrily, and move as blithely as before. 
 I have often seen them thus exchange their domi- 
 ciles, and thought how wonderfully every creature 
 is enabled to obtain a ready shelter how admi- 
 rably their instincts are adapted for the little 
 sphere of being, they are designed to fill. 
 
 If you were to pass through the village at this 
 season of the year, you would scarcely find a fa- 
 mily at home. They are " all away" to the har- 
 vest field, and very pleasing it is to see them thus 
 employed. You may count twenty or thirty in 
 one field, all eagerly collecting the scattered ears, 
 which the custom of the primitive ages bequeath- 
 ed to their humble wants. Then, if you walk or 
 ride into the woods, you will meet troops of wo- 
 
ANNALS OF MY VILLAGE. 
 
 men and active children sallying forth from the 
 little cottages, which are often so concealed among 
 magnificent beech-trees, that a straggler is startled 
 with the sound of human voices, when he thinks 
 himself surrounded only with impenetrable shades. 
 The respectful salutation and honest smile are 
 always ready, and generally "Pray, sir, (or ma'am,) 
 no offence we hope, but have you seen any leas- 
 ing* going on?" If happily you can satisfy 
 them, away they hurry, all glee and gossip ; and 
 if your ride or walk is prolonged, till Aries ap- 
 pears on the eastern horizon, and the Pleiades are 
 faintly discernible, you may meet the same joy- 
 ous groups returning to their cottages : the women 
 carrying the gleaned corn tied up in their blue 
 aprons on their heads, the little ones with their 
 hands full, and frequently bedecked with poppies 
 and corn-flowers. Beautiful scenes ! how vividly 
 you rise in my mental view, now that I have left 
 you ! for, reader, since I began a transcript of much, 
 that I have seen and heard around the village, 
 my lot has been cast amid the hurry of street- 
 pacing steeds, and in the tumultuous solitude of a 
 great city. But I love to think of them, and 
 though personally absent, my spirit wanders and 
 that continually, among the green- wood shades of 
 my own sweet village. 
 
 * A provincial term for gleaning. 
 
AUGUST. 273 
 
 "Adieu, adieu ! delightful shades, 
 
 Where mem'ry loves to linger still ; 
 The whisper of the forest glades, 
 
 The murmur of the distant rill, 
 The village bells, at evening hour, 
 
 When twilight holds her solemn reign, 
 Loud pealing from the ' auld church' tower, 
 
 Which I may'never see again. 
 
 How oft, in childhood's artless day, 
 
 Have rov'd my steps those wilds among, 
 To watch the sun's descending ray, 
 
 And hear the blackbird's tuneful song ! 
 What time, above Aruna's* tide, 
 
 The glowing tints of eve prevail, 
 And, stealing round the mountain's side, 
 
 Grey mists obscure the distant vale. 
 O ! still each closing hour to meet, 
 
 Those hills, those turfs, those flowers remain, 
 That warbled strain, so wildly sweet, 
 
 Which I may never hear again. 
 
 Adieu, a long, a last adieu ! 
 
 Dear flowery glens, and cottag'd vales ; 
 And, 'mid those heathy hills of blue, 
 
 The moaning of the mountain gales. 
 O ! many a long-remember'd scene, 
 
 In mem'ry's faithful glass shall rise : 
 The primrose bank, the wood-walk green, 
 
 And all its echoing shade supplies. 
 For swift the glancing mind can trace, 
 
 And oft on wings of thought regain 
 Each rustic group, each well-known face, 
 
 Which I may never see again. 
 
 Adieu ! though many an halcyon hour, 
 
 Shall every wonted joy renew : 
 Nor space, nor time's lethean power, 
 
 Shall steal this faithful heart from you. 
 
 * Poetic name for the Severn. 
 
 T 
 
274 ANNALS OF MY VILLAGE. 
 
 May peace the fields with plenty bless, 
 
 With bleating flocks the daisy'd green, 
 And every corn-clad vale confess, 
 
 The mountain nymph of cheerful mien. 
 Nor heavenly Pity's melting lay, 
 
 Nor pleading Misery ask in vain ; 
 To soothe of want, that bitter day, 
 
 Which here I may not soothe again. 
 
 Adieu ! belov'd and cherish'd still, 
 
 Now swiftly fades the distant view, 
 The lawn, the dale, the beech-crown'd hill 
 
 Once more, dear peaceful scenes, adieu ! 
 For never to each well-known spot, 
 
 Fit haunt of Dian's sylvan train ; 
 (Unknown of life, the future lot,) 
 
 These willing steps may turn again. 
 
 But to return to the gleaning season, which has 
 thus whirled away my thoughts ; it may perhaps 
 safely be asserted that a woman, with two or three 
 active children, can generally gather at least three 
 clear bushels of wheat ; and in catching weather, 
 when the farmer collects in haste, and the loaded 
 waggon is hurried to the barn, frequently much 
 more. The corn thus gathered is beaten from 
 the ear, and winnowed in a manner, that has often 
 brought to mind the simplicity of the patriarchal 
 ages, and led me to reflect by what a continual 
 chain of blessings the Most High has united the 
 transient race of mortals. 
 
 Since the world began, those two great links, 
 seed-time and harvest-time, have remained unbro- 
 
AUGUST. 275 
 
 ken amid convulsions, that have changed the face 
 of nature, and swept whole nations from the earth. 
 Ancient patriarchs on the beautiful plains of 
 Mamre, husbandmen even in remoter times, and 
 those of the present day, have equally rejoiced, as 
 they cut down the ripened corn. Gleaners, too, 
 have gathered the scattered ears from the earliest 
 ages of antiquity. Ruth on the plains of Bethle- 
 hem, those of Beth-shemesh, beside the threshing- 
 floor in the valley, Jewish maids and matrons among 
 the swelling sheaves of Dedan. And to the British, 
 as well as to the ancient husbandman, the same 
 kind admonition may be extended : "When ye reap 
 the harvest of your land, thou shalt not wholly 
 reap the corners of thy field, neither shalt thou 
 gather the gleanings of thy harvest thou shalt 
 leave them for the poor and stranger."* Nor 
 was this enjoined simply as an act of mercy. It 
 was twice repeated, and thus closed with peculiar 
 solemnity: "I am the Lord thy God." "He 
 sheds abundance o'er our flowing fields," and it is 
 peculiarly his will, that the poor and stranger 
 should rejoice in that abundance. 
 
 With us, the harvest-home is a period of much 
 festivity. The poor man is gladdened by the 
 plenteousness of the board, he forgets for a few 
 hours the distinction, that subsists between his 
 
 * Lev. xix. 9, 10 ; xxiii. 22. 
 
 T 2 
 
76 ANNALS OF MY VILLAGE. 
 
 master and himself, and exults in the honest pride 
 of " mutual gladness after mutual labour.' 1 
 
 " Here, once a year, Distinction low'rs its crest, 
 The master, servant, and the merry guest, 
 Are equal all ; and round the happy ring, 
 The reaper's eyes exulting glances fling ; 
 And, wann'd with gratitude, he quits his place, 
 With sun-burnt hands, and joy-enliven'd face, 
 Refills the jug, his honour'd host to tend, 
 To serve at once the master and the friend ; 
 Proud thus to meet his smiles, to share his tale, 
 His nuts, his conversation, and his ale." 
 
 BLOOMFIELD. 
 
 The refinement of modern days has deprived 
 this festivity, in many places, of that unrestrained 
 and equal intercourse, which formerly subsisted 
 for one evening, between the farmer and his fa- 
 mily ; but the good old custom still continues in 
 this neighbourhood. It is one, to which our farm- 
 ing servants look forward through the year, and 
 of which old people love to converse, when their 
 labour is past. 
 
 Some of the choicest wall-fruits are now ripen- 
 ing in succession. 
 
 . . . " The sunny wall 
 
 Presents the downy peach, the shining plum, 
 The ruddy fragrant nectarine, and dark 
 Beneath his ample leaf, the luscious fig." 
 
 THOMSON. 
 
 During this sultry month, the water in our 
 shallow pools is frequently evaporated ; and when 
 
AUGUST. 277 
 
 tliis occurs, the young geologist may find it inter- 
 esting to examine the cracks in their dry beds, as 
 illustrative of the forms of the columnar rocks on 
 the Wernerian principle. Colonel Imrie noticed 
 this pleasing fact. He tells us that the current of 
 a little stream of water had worn away the bank, 
 which enclosed a pond, and that on the side thus 
 broken down and laid open, the soil displayed a 
 beautiful arrangement of columnar forms, about 
 eighteen feet in length, and from one and a half to 
 three feet in diameter. They were all angular, 
 consisting of four, five, and six sides, perfectly 
 vertical, and the whole surface, upon which the 
 water had rested, was level, and cracked into 
 various forms. Upon these he stepped as on a 
 Giants Causeway. Similar phenomena are not 
 rare, though seldom to be seen under such favour- 
 able circumstances. 
 
 Considerable movements are now perceptible in 
 our fields and hedges. Young broods of gold- 
 finches are still seen fluttering about the bushes ; 
 lapwings and linnets begin to congregate; star- 
 lings assemble in large flocks upon the common ; 
 rooks no longer pass the night from home, but 
 roost in the trees, that contain their nests ; and 
 about the middle of August, the largest of the 
 swallow tribe, the swift or long-arm, (hirundo 
 disappears. This interesting species ar- 
 
278 ANNALS OF MY VILLAGE. 
 
 rives later, and departs sooner, than any of the 
 tribe : it is larger, stronger, and of swifter flighty 
 and brings up only one brood in the year. The 
 young are consequently soon old enough to accom- 
 pany their parents to distant lands. They have 
 been noticed at the Cape of Good Hope, and they 
 probably visit the more remote regions of Africa. 
 The congregating of these hirundines is a pleas- 
 ing feature in the present month; they assemble 
 in considerable numbers, and daily increase to 
 several hundreds, during which time they soar 
 higher in the air, with shriller cries, and fly differ- 
 ently from their usual mode. 
 
 Owls are now much abroad, and their lugu- 
 brious voices may be heard in the grey twilight. 
 They particularly affect a wooded glen " in the 
 Lodge fields, down which a little streamlet goes 
 sounding over a pebbly bed. It is a spot, that 
 often recalls to my remembrance the beautiful apos- 
 trophe of the poet. 
 
 " Thy shades, thy silence, now be mine, 
 
 Thy charms my only theme ; 
 My haunt the hollow cliff, whose pine 
 
 Waves o'er the gloomy stream. 
 Whence the scared owl, on pinions grey, 
 
 Breaks through the rustling boughs, 
 And down the lone vale sails away, 
 To more profound repose." 
 
 BEATTIE. 
 
 This solemn bird, the stria stridula, is very 
 
AUGUST. 279 
 
 common in our woods. We have also the long- 
 eared, (strix otus,) and the white, (stria flam- 
 mea) : when the evening draws in, they are gene- 
 rally in motion, skimming up and down the 
 hedges, and peeping into every bush. They make 
 great havoc among the smaller birds, and destroy 
 many rare or splendid moths and insects, which the 
 ornithologist would highly estimate. Yet it some- 
 times happens, that obeying the dictates of hun- 
 ger, rather than of prudence, they continue so 
 long in pursuit, that daylight breaks upon them, 
 and they are left dazzled and bewildered at a dis- 
 tance from their homes. What, then, is to be 
 done ? They fly in great distress to the nearest 
 hedge, or spreading tree, that offers a friendly 
 shelter, where they continue, till the return of 
 evening enables them to discover their way back. 
 
 I once saw an owl thus circumstanced, and a 
 most amusing sight it was. Some chattering mag- 
 pie, prying thrush, or sparrow, had discovered and 
 revealed the place of his retreat, and every fea- 
 thered neighbour was in motion. Blackbirds, 
 thrushes, jays, buntings, throstles, and finches, 
 birds of the most opposite character and descrip- 
 tion, united in attacking the common enemy, 
 Nay, the smallest and the feeblest were the 
 foremost to torment him. They uttered loud 
 and vexatious cries, flapped their wings in his 
 
280 ANNALS OF MY VILLAGE. 
 
 venerable face, and endeavoured to evince, by their 
 audacity the greatness of their courage. Mean- 
 while, the unfortunate owl, not knowing where to 
 direct his strokes, or where to fly for refuge, turned 
 his head, and rolled his eyes at random, with an air 
 of stupidity, and gave, from time to time, a loud 
 snap with his bill. At length, unable to endure 
 their insults, forth he darted in despair. The 
 whole company followed, and either the just aver- 
 sion, which he inspired, or else an instinctive con- 
 sciousness of safety, induced them to pursue him 
 without mercy. On they went, till a cloud sud- 
 denly obscured the sunbeams, and the owl hap- 
 pily approached a rocky bank covered with un- 
 derwood ; into this he darted, and none among the 
 chattering crowd were bold enough to follow him. 
 
 That rocky bank is watered, at its base, by a 
 clear gravelly stream, the favourite resort of a fine 
 king-fisher, (alcedo ispida). 
 
 I have seen this beautiful creature hovering in 
 the sunbeams over a less rapid flowing of the cur- 
 rent, with the evident design of attracting his 
 finny prey. In a few moments, a group of fishes, 
 began to assemble, and remained gazing on the 
 dazzling object. Immediately the kingfisher was 
 down upon them, and having, with a single stroke, 
 brought up the finest in his bill, he flew rapidly 
 to the opposite side, and leisurely devoured it. 
 
AUGUST. 281 
 
 He then balanced himself over the water, again 
 the fish assembled, and again he rendered one of 
 them his prey. He was preparing a third time to 
 repeat his aggressions, when a kite, which had 
 been watching his movements from a neighbour- 
 ing tree, made a sudden swoop towards him. But 
 happily his quick eye perceived the danger, and 
 in a moment my little halcyon shot away to his 
 fastnesses in the opposite bank. 
 
 Ferns are now in flower, and as the month ad- 
 vances to a close, the under surface of their pin- 
 nated, or gracefully divided leaves, are elegantly 
 varied with small circular lines, dots, or patches. 
 Our green lanes, the roots of old beech trees, 
 and spring headsj are profusely ornamented with 
 the hartVtongue and female polypody ; the latter, 
 when placed in a green-house, acquires a brighter 
 colour, a more luxuriant growth ; it -also becomes 
 an evergreen, and extremely ornamental plant. 
 
 Some of the latest butterflies are abroad ; the 
 phalena pacta, a white moth, may be often seen 
 encumbered with the morning dew, and sleeping, 
 unconscious of its danger, in the path-way ; and 
 the apis manicata, one of the solitary bees, which 
 constructs an habitation for her future young, 
 without any reference to her own accommodation, 
 is our frequent visiter. This gay insect does not 
 excavate a hole for the reception of her thin trans- 
 
ANNALS OF MY VILLAGE. 
 
 parent cells ; she places them in the cavity of old 
 trees, in walls, and even inside the lock of a gar- 
 den gate. When the cells are constructed, she 
 lays an egg in each, fills them with honey, and 
 plasters them with a covering, apparently, com- 
 posed of honey and pollen. She then attacks the 
 woolly leaves of the downy wound wort, corn 
 cockle, and similar plants, industriously scrapes 
 off' the wool with her mandibles, rolls it into a 
 little ball, and conveys it to her nest. This ball, 
 the careful creature sticks upon the plaster, that 
 covers her cells, and thus closely envelops them 
 with a warm, downy coating, impervious to every 
 change of atmosphere. 
 
 Though the movements of the common water- 
 spider (aranea aquatica) are not peculiar to any 
 season of the year, yet the present month is very 
 favourable for observing her proceedings. The 
 streams, which she frequents are generally clearer 
 than any other; they are not disturbed by fre- 
 quent rains ; and hence her watery palace may be 
 occasionally observed. When about to construct 
 this dwelling, she spins, and then attaches her 
 loose threads to the leaves of aquatic plants ; 
 over these she spreads a glutinous secretion, which 
 resembles liquid glass, and is so elastic, as to ad- 
 mit of considerable dilation and contraction. She 
 next enwraps herself with a mantle of the same 
 
AUGUST. 283 
 
 material, and ascends to the surface, where she 
 draws in a quantity of air ; this she again pumps 
 out through an opening in the body, which seems 
 peculiar to aquatic spiders, for the purpose of 
 inflating their aerial garment. Thus clothed, and 
 shining like a globe of light, our watery arachne 
 plunges to her subaqueous habitation, and dis- 
 engages the bubble from beneath her robe, in 
 order to inflate it, till by repeated efforts a dry 
 and commodious dwelling is erected in the midst 
 of the waters. When finished, it is about the 
 size of a pigeon's egg ; and here she reposes, un- 
 disturbed by wind or wave; here also she de- 
 vours her prey at leisure, and emerges from ^it 
 to search the waters or the land for food. The 
 male constructs a similar habitation : early in the 
 spring, also, he assists his nearest neighbour to ren- 
 der her dwelling larger and more commodious, and 
 when the eggs are laid and carefully packed up 
 in a silken cocoon, in a corner of the dwelling, the 
 female watches them with unwearied tenderness, 
 while he continues to hunt for prey. 
 
 The diving-bell is an invention of modern days, 
 the triumph of art over an unfriendly element ; 
 but this triumph was long since anticipated by 
 our water spider. Perhaps there is no invention, 
 that may not find a prototype among the works 
 of nature. 
 
284 ANNALS OF MY VILLAGE. 
 
 SEPTEMBER. 
 
 September marched eke on foot, 
 
 Yet was he heavy laden with the spoils 
 
 Of harvest riches." 
 
 SPENCER. 
 
 THE corn harvest is now generally completed, but 
 this offers little repose to the labours of the hus- 
 bandman ; the fields are again ploughed, and pre- 
 pared for winter corn, of which the sowing has 
 again commenced. 
 
 Now, also, the gathering in of the apple harvest 
 is begun, and this is a very cheerful season. 
 Though not professedly a cider neighbourhood, 
 we have a great deal of orcharding round the 
 village, and the apples are generally good and 
 plentiful. Several of the cottages have small 
 orchards attached to them, and the gathering in of 
 the crop summons the weaver from his loom, and 
 his family from the labours of the manufactory. 
 
SEPTEMBER. 285 
 
 The father mounts the tree, and carefully gathers 
 the choicest fruit into his blue apron ; meanwhile, 
 his wife and elder children shake the outer 
 branches with long poles, while the younger joy- 
 fully collect the fallen apples into heaps. 
 
 We have the longney-russet, and winter-pippins, 
 the harvey-russet, woodcock, spice-apples, golden- 
 pippins, and winter-quinnings, with various other 
 kinds of kernel fruit. The first two are much 
 used in the vale of Gloucester, with the hagley- 
 crab, in making stout-bodied, rough, masculine 
 cider ; the five others for a full-bodied, rich, and 
 pleasant liquor. 
 
 It appears that this, as well as the vale part of 
 the county, was anciently celebrated for the cul- 
 ture of the vine. Tradition says, that there was 
 once a vineyard of great extent, on a warm shel- 
 tered spot of ground, with a southern aspect, 
 about four miles from the village. Certain it is, 
 that Gloucestershire, in general, was as much re- 
 nowned for its vineyards, as for its apple orchards. 
 " No county," saith William of Malmesbury, 
 " hath so many, or so good, either for fertility, or 
 the sweetness of the grape. The wine has in it 
 no unpleasant tartness, or eagerness, and is little in- 
 ferior to the French in sweetness." To which, 
 Camden adds, that " the reason why so many 
 places in the county are called vineyards, was on 
 
286 
 
 ANNALS OF MY VILLAGE. 
 
 account of the plenty of wines made there ; and 
 that they yield none now is rather to be imputed 
 to the sloth of the inhabitants, than the indisposi- 
 tion of the climate." But I would rather say, 
 that the ground is employed to better advantage, 
 and that the cultivation of corn and potatoes is 
 more beneficial. 
 
 Yet scarcely a century has elapsed since wheat 
 corn was first planted in the parish. One of those 
 old chroniclers, who carry back our thoughts to a 
 very different generation, a scion of the true old 
 yeomen, who have now generally disappeared from 
 the British farm-house, told me, that in her youth 
 a clergyman of the name of Wilshire, having 
 brought with him a man-servant, whom he greatly 
 valued, when he took possession of the living ; was 
 induced, by the solicitations of this servant, who 
 complained of eating barley-bread, to lay down 
 part of the glebe to wheat corn. Thus was 
 wheaten bread first introduced into the parish ; 
 before that time it had been seen or heard of only 
 as a rarity. This may appear extraordinary, but 
 we must remember that little intercourse then 
 existed between places, even comparatively at 
 short distances. The town, where Mr. Wilshire 
 resided, though now on the high-road to Bath, 
 was then almost inaccessible. Its only road led 
 down Stepping-stone-lane, a name that aptly 
 
SEPTEMBER. 287 
 
 implies the extreme ruggedness of its descent, 
 through a miry brook, of which the banks on 
 either side were so high and stony, that younger 
 persons than my old chronicler have told me, they 
 remembered poor, weary, heavy laden pack-horses 
 falling dead, while struggling up them. 
 
 The potatoe, too, though recommended by Sir 
 Francis Bacon, and planted by the indefatigable 
 Gerard, was merely noticed by Philip Miller, 
 about seventy years since, as a sorry root, despised 
 by the rich, and deemed only proper food for the 
 poorer sorts of persons. That it has been grown 
 in gardens scarcely more than one hundred and 
 seventy years, or to any extent in the field, above 
 seventy, appears certain, from various authentic 
 testimonies ; and yet it forms the sole, if not the 
 principal support of a large majority among the 
 labouring classes. During the hard winter of 
 1827, when work was scarce and provision dear, I 
 have known whole families entirely supported from 
 their potatoe-heaps, without ever tasting tea, (the 
 poor man's luxury,) meat, or bread. These cottagers 
 had little gardens of their own ; they must other- 
 wise have applied to that last bitter resource, the 
 parish. This valuable root was brought into the 
 parish about seventy years since, and the older in- 
 habitants still remember the field, where they were 
 first planted. 
 
288 ANNALS OF MY VILLAGE. 
 
 Hitherto, the potatoe has been considered only 
 as a valuable article of food, but other qualities 
 are now made known. Sir John Sinclair has 
 ascertained, that permanent and beautiful colours, 
 in silk, cotton, and woollen goods, may be pro- 
 cured from the flower of the potatoe. These co- 
 lours are equal to the finest tints, produced from 
 the most valuable foreign materials, and in rich- 
 ness of shade, they are in some cases, even supe- 
 rior. The cutting the flower off is not injurious 
 to the plant ; on the contrary, by preventing the 
 formation of the seed, or apple, the weight and 
 quality of the root are considerably improved. 
 
 A snuff-box has been made in Saxony from the 
 starch of this valuable plant. It is of a deep 
 chocolate colour, and resembles leather in tex- 
 ture and appearance. From Bohemia, a corres- 
 pondent writes, that an horticulturist there had a 
 beautiful plantation of the best sort of apple-trees, 
 which have neither sprung from seeds nor grafting. 
 His plan is to take shoots from the choicest sorts, 
 insert each of them into a potato, and plunge both 
 into the ground, leaving but an inch or two of the 
 shoot above the surface. The potatoe nourishes 
 the shoot whilst it is striking root, and the shoot 
 gradually springs up, and becomes a healthy tree, 
 bearing the best fruit, without requiring to be 
 grafted. This discovery is valuable, for if the 
 
SEPTEMBER. 289 
 
 seeds or kernels of apples are sown, all, except 
 that one roundish seed, which differs in appearance 
 from the others, produce crabs instead of apples. 
 Cuttings, too, when committed to the earth, rarely 
 succeed. The sun dries up the sap before a root 
 is formed, and it must be under very favourable 
 circumstances, that a cutting will answer the ex- 
 pectation of him, who plants it. But the Bohe- 
 mian method seldom fails. I have successfully 
 tried it with the cuttings of myrtles, geraniums, 
 and scarlet fuscias. 
 
 The kidney-bean is now cultivated in almost 
 every cottage-garden. It was first introduced into 
 the gardens of the neighbouring gentry about 
 forty years since, as an elegant creeper, and people 
 went to look at it, as we should now, at a fresh 
 arrival from the Cape. By degrees, its virtues 
 became known, and within these ten years, our 
 poor neighbours raise it to great advantage, as few 
 esculents are equally nutricious. It is even cal- 
 culated that the nutrition contained in French- 
 beans is ninety parts out of a hundred, whereas, 
 in wheat it is only seventy, and in potatoes less. 
 
 The cultivation of these valuable esculents, 
 with others of a similar description, has been at- 
 tended with incalculable benefit to the population 
 of Great Britain. In ancient times the leprosy so 
 much prevailed, that hospitals were erected for the 
 
 u 
 
290 ANNALS OF MY VILLAGE. 
 
 reception of those, who suffered from this terrible 
 calamity. A noble building, once appropriated to 
 the purpose, is now standing at Durham, another 
 at Lincoln, two in South wark, and one in London. 
 Crowned heads, and wealthy and charitable per- 
 sons, also, provided for their wants, and large lega- 
 cies were bequeathed for the same pious purpose. 
 Now, this dreadful malady is rare, and the change 
 may be attributed, not so much to wearing linen 
 next the skin, as to the general use of fruits, and 
 esculents, roots, legumes, and greens. Formerly, 
 the baron and his retainers lived principally on 
 salted flesh. This was preserved in autumn for 
 winter use ; and we learn from history, that even, 
 so late as the third of May, six hundred bacons, 
 eighty carcases of beef, and six hundred muttons, 
 were found in the larder of the elder Spencer, 
 during the reign of Edward the Second. The 
 country, too, was wild and forest-like ; there were 
 no enclosures, as at present ; sown grasses, turnips, 
 carrots, and hay were unknown ; such of the poor 
 cattle, as had grown fat in summer, and were not 
 killed for winter use, were turned adrift soon after 
 Michaelmas. Nor was it, till within comparatively 
 a recent period, that esculents of any kind were 
 introduced, and cultivated in this country. Our 
 Saxon ancestors seemed to have made some little 
 progress in horticultural pursuits ; they called 
 
SEPTEMBER. 291 
 
 February sprout-cale, and it is therefore evident, 
 that the culture of the cabbage,at least, was attended 
 to. But when this country fell under the Norman 
 yoke, all their gentle arts were laid aside. The 
 unoffending peasant cared not to cultivate his 
 little garden, when no longer free to use its pro- 
 duce in his family ; when turbulent barons and 
 riotous retainers trampled, in war or chace, on the 
 fruits of his industry. 
 
 Ages passed away, and still the coarsest diet 
 prevailed in England, till after the union of the 
 roses, when an enlarged intercourse took place 
 with foreign countries. Carrots, turnips, and a 
 few other edible roots were imported from Hol- 
 land and Flanders, towards the latter part of the 
 reign of Henry the Eighth ; yet even then, if 
 Queen Catharine wanted a salad, she was obliged 
 to dispatch a messenger thither on purpose. The 
 use of hops, and the planting of them, were also 
 introduced from Flanders, about the same time. 
 
 But esculents were generally confined to the 
 gardens of the rich. Many years elapsed before 
 they found their way to our towns and villages. 
 Mr. Ray informs us, in his " Tour of Europe," so 
 late as the year 1663, that " the Italians use 
 several herbs for salads, which are not yet, or 
 have been but lately, introduced into England, 
 viz. celery, which is nothing else but the sweet 
 
 u 2 
 
ANNALS OF MY VILLAGE. 
 
 smallage ; the young shoots whereof, with a little 
 of the head of the root cut off, they eat raw with 
 oil and pepper ; curled endive blanched is, also, 
 much used beyond seas, and for a raw sallet, 
 seemed to excel lettuce itself." 
 
 At the present period, many decent labourers 
 have gardens, which are equally their profit and de- 
 light. Green-stalls are seen in all the streets and 
 alleys of the great metropolis, and horticulturists 
 acquire fortunes. 
 
 The small garden white butterflies, (pontia 
 rapce, Haworth,) are much abroad during the 
 present month. You may see them congregate in 
 crowds around the margins of our ponds, in 
 sunny weather, and though generally pugnacious, 
 skirmishing and buffeting one the other whenever 
 they chance to meet, they now seem to lay aside 
 this ungracious temper: all is harmony among 
 the light- winged belligerents ; no one disturbs his 
 neighbour, though often fluttering side by side- 
 The autumn of 1829 witnessed a similar congre- 
 gating of the same species, on the watered roads, in 
 the vicinity of London. 
 
 As September advances to a close, and the shout- 
 ing for the summer fruits, and for the harvest, is 
 generally over in the southern parts of Britain, 
 Cetus and Taurus are added to the constellations 
 of last month, and troops of little birds migrate 
 
SEPTEMBER. 
 
 to a warmer climate. The nightingale and cuckoo 
 left us in July and August. The waxen chat- 
 terer, wheat-ear, and ring ouzel, pettychaps, black- 
 cap, flycatcher, wood, reed, and grasshopper larks, 
 willow wrens, whitethroat, and siskins, which alone 
 of the finch family migrate, are now departed or 
 departing. The hirundines are also on the move. 
 In places where a few days since innumerable wings 
 were in commotion, not one is to be seen. And 
 yet though the fact of their migration has occu- 
 pied the diligence of ancient and modern natu- 
 ralists, Selborne's elegant historian is the only 
 witness to their actual departure. He was tra- 
 velling early on Michaelmas day, from his own re- 
 sidence towards the coast, across one of those 
 wild heaths, that are common in the west of Eng- 
 land : the morning was remarkably foggy, but 
 as the day advanced, and the mists began to break 
 away, he discovered innumerable swallows cluster- 
 ing on the bushes, where they had apparently 
 passed the night. They remained stationary for 
 a short time, as if waiting for the clearing up of 
 the morning ; and as soon as the sun burst forth, 
 they were instantly on the wing, steering with an 
 easy and placid flight towards the sea. 
 
 Large flocks have been also seen occasionally on 
 small willow-islands in the Thames, Here they 
 no doubt assemble for the purpose of migrating, 
 
294 ANNALS OF MY VILLAGE. 
 
 and thence we may conjecture that they de- 
 part to some sunny clime ; but as their flight is 
 either in the night, or early in the morning, no 
 one has witnessed the actual fact. 
 
 Yet it is certain that they disappear from the 
 fields of Britain in September and October, and 
 that thousands arrive in Africa about the begin- 
 ning of November, having accomplished their 
 weary journey in less than seven days. When 
 thus proceeding, they are often seen, if harassed 
 with opposing winds, to alight on some friendly 
 mast, faint and exhausted with fatigue, and then, 
 after a short rest, to launch forth in the same di- 
 rection. 
 
 We hail with joy the arrival of the swallow 
 people on our shores, and witness their departure 
 with regret. Yet, in the little world of rural 
 sights, by which we are surrounded, none, perhaps, 
 are more amusing than the movements of these 
 constant birds, when about to migrate. Large 
 flocks used to assemble on our roof, but having 
 been apparently offended by the removing of an 
 iron bar, one of their favourite perching places, 
 they now hold their annual assembly on a neigh- 
 bouring chapel. There they sit, as if in grave 
 consultation : you might fancy that some of the 
 most experienced were giving their opinion ; then 
 there is a general clamour, and away they fly, now 
 
SEPTEMBER. 2Q5 
 
 wheeling round in sportive circles, then darting 
 into the valley, and again perching on the roof. 
 Thus they exercise their wings, and thus deli- 
 berate for several successive days; but notwith- 
 standing all the attention I could pay them, rising 
 early and watching late, I never discovered the 
 actual period .of their migration. Often, when ob- 
 serving the movements of these poor little birds, 
 I could not help being touched with a secret de- 
 light, mixed with some degree of mortification: 
 the one excited by considering with how much ar- 
 dour and punctuality they obey the strong im- 
 pulse, that is implanted in them by their great 
 Creator ; the other by the thought which se- 
 cretly arose within me, that after all our pains and 
 inquiries, we could not certainly ascertain the pre- 
 cise moment of their departure. 
 
 You have no doubt also, reader, frequently ob- 
 served the clustering of these swallow people on 
 the thatch, and chimney of some near cottage; 
 but have you ever considered their wonderful 
 order and polity, and how they travel, without a 
 guide or compass, through a vast expanse of air, 
 and over the deep briny sea ; when long experience, 
 charts, and journals, can alone enable man to ac- 
 complish what they instinctively perform ? Have 
 you ever seriously thought who it is, that thus di- 
 rects their steady course, discovers to them what 
 
296 ANNALS OF MY VILLAGE. 
 
 distance they have travelled, and how far they 
 have yet to go ? who conducts and feeds them, who 
 points out those islands and quiet resting places, 
 where they successively refresh themselves, and at 
 length directs them to some far distant region, 
 where they may safely bring up their young ? 
 
 This all cometh of the Lord, who commanded 
 the waters to bring forth abundantly the moving 
 creatures, that have life, and fowl, that fly above 
 the earth, in the open firmament of heaven. 
 
 When the summer birds are gone, a new race 
 appears upon the shores of Britain, as if they had 
 been awaiting the departure of the others. These 
 are fieldfares, (turdus pilaris, ) that swarm in the 
 woods of Russia, Siberia, and even Kamtschatka, 
 that affect the pine woods of Poland, and build 
 in Sweden and Norway, where a considerable 
 number continue the whole year. But, as soon as 
 the berries are exhausted, the superabundant popu- 
 lation, impelled by cold and hunger, pour out 
 from their northern haunts, and rest upon the Ork- 
 neys, in their progress southward, where they feed 
 on the berries of different mountain plants. They 
 reach England about Michaelmas, and leave it 
 early in March, in their way towards Syria, where 
 they continue during winter. In this country, 
 their arrival announces the defoliation of deci- 
 duous trees. The leaves of the plane become 
 
SEPTEMBER. 207 
 
 tawny, the hazel yellow, the sycamore brown, the 
 oak, and maple, the ash, the elm, and hawthorn, 
 assume different tints of orange or yellow ; the 
 cherry becomes red, the willow hoary. Thus 
 blended, they present that exquisite variety of 
 mingled hues, that melody of colours, which 
 equally applies to the rich autumnal foliage of 
 the woodlands, as to the colour of stones just 
 washed by the waves. But fieldfares are not in 
 every country precursors of the sear and yellow 
 leaf. They spend the summer in northern Eu- 
 rope and Lower Austria, building in high trees, 
 and feeding on different kinds of berries, those es- 
 pecially of the juniper. Their migrations were 
 not unobserved by the Romans. Varro notices 
 them as birds of passage, coming in autumn, and 
 departing with the spring. 
 
 Throstles ( turdus musicus) also appear in Eng- 
 land with the fieldfares, though not universally 
 migratory : and the innocent family of Columbine 
 are all in motion. A few ring-doves bring up 
 their young in the island, but the multitudes, that 
 appear at this season, are so disproportionate to 
 the residents, that we may reasonably conclude 
 the greater numbers migrate in the spring. Swe- 
 den is probably their summer haunt ; there they 
 build their nests, and then exchange her cold 
 inhospitable woods for the sheltering fields of Bri- 
 
298 ANNALS OF MY VILLAGE. 
 
 tain. Clouds of the common rock, or wild pigeon, 
 (columba cenas) steer towards the north, whence 
 they return in winter, though considerable num- 
 bers still inhabit such high cliffs, as overhang the 
 sea. 
 
 Many of these migratory birds, depending on a 
 rich supply of seeds and berries, find a ready ban- 
 quet in every field, and thicket, grove, plain, and 
 hedgerow. Hips and haws, black-berries, and 
 elder-berries, are now fully ripe; seeds of every 
 kind are also in perfection ; and here a most strik- 
 ing unity of purpose is discoverable under various 
 expedients. Pellicles and shells, pulps, pods and 
 husks, skins, and scales, are all employed in pro- 
 secuting the same design, and this is, also, fulfilled 
 within a just and limited degree. The reason may 
 be readily explained. If the seeds of plants were 
 more strongly guarded, their security would inter- 
 fere with other uses. Some species of animals and 
 birds must suffer; many would perish if unable toob- 
 tain them : certain plants might overrun the ground, 
 or the seeds be wasted in the capsules. These seeds 
 are carefully preserved from inconstant skies, and 
 the sweeping desolation of inclement seasons ; they 
 are designed for a two-fold purpose to carry on 
 the vegetable tribes from year to year, by means 
 of which, the earth is filled with the riches and 
 the liberality of the Lord ; and to afford a con- 
 
SEPTEMBER. 299 
 
 stant supply of food to every living creature, to 
 the cattle, and the creeping things, and the fowls, 
 that fly beneath the vaulted canopy of heaven. 
 The depredations of animals, and the injuries of 
 accidental violence are also allowed for, in the 
 abundance of the increase; and hence it is, that 
 among the thousands, and tens of thousands, that 
 cover the surface of the earth, not a single plant 
 has, perhaps, been lost, since the morning stars re- 
 joiced together, and God pronounced that all was 
 good. 
 
 Nor less admirable is the dispersion of different 
 seeds. They cannot answer the purpose, for which 
 they are designed, while confined in the capsule ; 
 when, therefore, they are ripened, the seed vessels 
 open to let them out ; and this according to a pre- 
 scribed rule, and at a certain season, in every 
 plant ; even nuts and shells, which require a strong 
 hand to break them, divide and make way for the 
 little tender sprout, which proceeds from the ker- 
 nel. Handling the nut, we could hardly conceive 
 how the plantule was ever to get out. 
 
 Nor less extraordinary are the facts, that seed 
 vessels are generally raised *on elastic bending 
 stems, or placed at the end of slender branches, 
 that the wind may shake them to and fro, and 
 scatter the ripe seeds ; that their ripening exactly 
 tallies with the means prescribed for their disper- 
 
800 ANNALS OF MY VILLAGE. 
 
 sion, and that in each, a beautiful and appropriate 
 machinery is adapted to the purpose; some ad- 
 here to the coats of animals, and are thus con- 
 veyed to a distance, others to the plumage of swift 
 flying birds, while a considerable number are ar- 
 ranged in elastic cases, which open instantaneously, 
 and throw the seeds to a considerable distance. 
 This peculiar construction is obvious in the com- 
 mon wood-sorrel and hart's-tongue. In the former, 
 they are enclosed within a tendinous springy cap- 
 sule, which turns inside out, and dismisses them 
 with a jerk ; in the latter, the seed vessel is girded 
 round with a spring, resembling a fine screw, which 
 contracts at the appointed season, breaks the 
 case into two equal parts, resembling little cups, 
 and thus flings out the seed. In plants, that 
 affect a peculiar habitat, the seeds being small and 
 heavy, fall directly to the ground, and reappear 
 around the parent plant ; but if so large and 
 light as to be obnoxious to the action of the wind, 
 they are often furnished with one or more hooks, 
 to prevent them from straying far. Therefore it 
 is that the avens and the agrimony have a single, 
 the goosegrass a many-hooked seed; both the 
 former are found on warm and sheltered banks, 
 the latter requires a hedge for its support. 
 Others are provided with vegetable wings, or fea- 
 thery tufts, that the autumnal wind may readily 
 
SEPTEMBER. 301 
 
 disperse them, lest they should be sown too thickly, 
 or that if one should miss a favourable site, ano- 
 ther might be wafted to it. Yet, even these are 
 variously constructed, according to their different 
 necessities; the kernel of the pine is furnished 
 with short wings, too short for flight, yet still 
 enabling them to flutter on the ground ; in those 
 of the catVtail, dandelion, and most of the pap- 
 pous kind, they are extremely light and buoyant, 
 and facilitate the conveyance of the seed to the 
 distance of many miles : some are adorned with 
 feathers, like little diadems ; others resemble fly- 
 ing shuttles : such are the seeds of the common 
 carline thistle. Ossian thus notices this beautiful 
 effect on the windy Caledonian hills. " The ze- 
 phyrs are sporting on the plain, and pursuing the 
 thistle's beard.'" But where shall we discover a 
 more beautiful instance of evident design than in 
 the seeds of the common sycamore. Soak them 
 in warm water, and you may readily discover the 
 long radicle leaves of the future plant carefully 
 wrapped up, with the minute ones that are to suc- 
 ceed them folded in their bosom ; these radicle 
 leaves are beautifully green, a singular pheno- 
 menon in the vegetable world, as all light is ex- 
 cluded by three coatings and a woolly wrapper 
 that invests them. Thus wonderfully is the wis- 
 dom and beneficence of a divine artificer mani- 
 
302 ANNALS OF MY VILLAGE. 
 
 fested in the meanest things ! A solitary seed is 
 alone sufficient to humble in the dust the arro- 
 gance of reasoning man. 
 
 " If we could open, and inbend our eye, 
 We all, like Moses, should espy 
 Ev'n in a bush, the radiant Deity." 
 
 COWLEY. 
 
 I have often stood on the margin of our river, 
 in a fine windy September day, to observe the 
 seeds of different plants as they fell into the stream, 
 or were carried by the wind in various directions. 
 The banks on either side were fenced and guarded 
 by high forest trees, and a little path fringed with 
 moss and wild flowers, wound by the water's edge. 
 The trees chiefly consisted of white and black 
 birches, oak, ash, and elm ; and, though brought 
 together by the hand of art, were evidently de- 
 signed for widely different localities. The seeds 
 of the white birch were fully ripe, and when some 
 fell into the stream, and others were borne through 
 the air in eddying circles, it was curious to ob- 
 serve how admirably they were constructed for 
 either element. A small spherically-shaped body, 
 with a wing-like appendage, fitted them for flight ; 
 a long tail, and a little leaf, answered the purpose 
 of a sail and ballast on the water. Those of the 
 black birch are equally adapted for long flights or 
 voyages. Hence it happens that though the pa- 
 
SEPTEMBER. 303 
 
 rent trees are often placed by their Creator in the 
 regions of perpetual winter, and surrounded by 
 the strife of elements, in situations from which ap- 
 parently there is little chance of their dissemina- 
 tion, the embryo offspring is enabled, by a con- 
 struction, equally ingenious and mechanical, either 
 to sail over extensive lakes, or to travel across 
 those wastes of snow, in which birch forests are 
 frequently situated. Hence too it is, that they 
 are found in Europe, Africa, and America, and 
 wafted over Asia, where the heavy acorns of the 
 oak cannot follow them. It was equally curious 
 to watch the seeds of water plants, launching one 
 after the other, and sailing away to different parts ; 
 those of the common bulrush, which grew there 
 luxuriantly, resembled a lobster's egg; those of 
 the water-fennel were real canoes in miniature, 
 hollowed in the middle, and raised at each ends 
 into a prow : these would coast along the margin 
 of the stream^ till, flung by a sudden eddy out of 
 the torrent's play, they took root in some sheltered 
 nook, there to cover the borders of the friendly 
 stream with a livelier verdure : those of the silver 
 fir hurried by with their mimic sails expanded to 
 catch the breeze : willow seeds, enveloped in cob- 
 web down, floated upon the surface without im- 
 bibing its humidity, like the downy feathers of a 
 duck, while a little navy of poplar seeds, borne by 
 
304 ANNTALS OF MY VILLAGE. 
 
 an eddying wind from the parent tree, were swiftly 
 carried out of sight. 
 
 And as the winds and currents of this small 
 river dispersed the bordering seeds along its mar- 
 gin, and over the adjacent meadows, so the same 
 effect may be seen to take place on a larger scale, 
 and by the same efficient agents, in every sea and 
 river. Maritime winds and currents transport an 
 infinite variety of seeds to situations the most re- 
 mote from their native soils. The gulf stream 
 frequently deposits West Indian seeds on the 
 northern parts of Scotland ; and in Lapland, those 
 of the Alpine districts are carried by mountain 
 torrents to the distance of forty miles, and left in 
 situations favourable to their growth. 
 
 Were it possible to embrace, in one comprehen- 
 sive glance, the progress of these vegetable voy- 
 agers, what a cheering display of wisdom, contri- 
 vance, and design, would burst on the astonished 
 eye ! How delightful it would be to watch the 
 seeds of Western India journeying towards the 
 coast of Norway, without a pilot, chart, or com- 
 pass ; those of Asia, impelled by the winds and 
 waves, till they arrive on the shores of Italy ; the 
 saragossa of Jamaica carried towards the coast of 
 Florida, and from thence into the northern Atlan- 
 tic ocean, where it lies thick on the surface ; the 
 American cassia landing on the shores of Norway; 
 
SEPTEMBER. 305 
 
 the double cocoas of the Molucca islands joyfully 
 welcomed by the expecting inhabitants on the 
 coast of Malabar, who long believed that these 
 annual presents of the ocean were the produce of 
 a palm tree, growing in its fathomless recesses, and 
 that they arose from among coral groves endowed 
 with supernatural qualities ! Nor would it be less 
 interesting to observe how admirably the seeds of 
 each individual plant are adapted to such extensive 
 voyages, those of the great gourd being contained in 
 capsules resembling bottles ; those of the royal pi- 
 mento on the shores of Louisiana, encrusted with 
 a coat of wax ; double cocoa nuts lashed together 
 like the canoes of the South Sea ; the kernels of the 
 maritime pine enclosed in a kind of little bony 
 shoes, notched on the under side, and covered 
 on the upper, with a piece resembling a ship's hatch; 
 the motions of these are literally those of speed and 
 silence, they pass over the surface of the billows, and 
 journey on by day and night amidst the raging of the 
 ocean, where no human foot would dare to follow. 
 Wherever the traveller is able to contemplate the 
 primordial disposition of nature, the shores are 
 universally covered with trees and shrubs bearing 
 fruit, adapted for floating on the water. The first 
 navigators found the shallows of the Indian seas 
 standing thick with cocoa trees, whilst the borders 
 of the North American lakes were shaded with 
 
ANNALS OF MY VILLAGE. 
 
 olives, the seeds of which, like those of the hazel 
 tree, that grow to a great size on the waters edge, 
 are enclosed in little casks, capable of holding out 
 the longest voyages. Homer, who attentively 
 studied nature, at periods and in situations where 
 she still retained her pristine beauty, has traced 
 the olive tree along the shores of the island, where 
 Ulysses, when floating on a raft, was driven by 
 the tempest. 
 
 All this is mercifully devised ,that man, so often 
 regardless of the gifts, and ungrateful to the giver, 
 may be wanting in nothing that is needful to his 
 ease and comfort. Houses, utensils, food, and medi- 
 cine, clothing too, and many useful arts, are 
 derived from the vegetable tribes : while some 
 afford a pleasing shade in the scorching heat of 
 summer, others serve to warm and shelter him 
 in the severest weather; they delight him with 
 their beauty and sweet odours, and may well 
 awake within him a feeling of gladness and thanks- 
 giving. 
 
 Our meadows are now beautifully varied with 
 an abundance of the meadow saffron, or tube-root,* 
 ( colchicum^ autunmale,) that orphan flower which 
 
 * Scarcely any other flower, except the ivy, opens during the 
 present month. 
 
 t From Colchis, on the dim Euxine sea, where this plant is said 
 to flourish abundantly. 
 
SEPTEMBER. 307 
 
 rises above the ground without a sheath, a fence, a 
 calyx, or even a leaf to protect it ; and this not in 
 the spring, nor yet to be visited by summer suns, 
 but when the nights are cold, and deciduous trees 
 begin to shed their leaves. You would pity that 
 little plant you would be ready to exclaim, 
 " Surely it is forgotten amid the immensity of 
 creation."" No, reader ! He who sustains the firma- 
 ment, and causes the day spring to know its place, 
 who spreads abroad the heavens as a tent to dwell 
 in, and kindles the suns of other systems cares 
 for that little flower, preserves and cherishes it. 
 The seed-vessel, which in other plants is open to 
 the influence of light and air, is buried in the 
 colchicum at least ten inches under ground, within 
 the bulbous root. The tube extends even to the 
 root ; the styles, too, are so elongated as to reach 
 the seed-vessel. Why is this ? Because the plant 
 blossoms late, and has not time to perfect its 
 seeds before the setting in of winter. Providence 
 therefore has so constructed it, that this import- 
 ant office is carried on at a depth beyond 
 the usual effect of frost. But then a difficulty 
 occurs. Seeds we know may be perfected, but 
 they will not vegetate at such a depth. How is 
 this provided for ? Those, who visit in the spring 
 our meadows by the little river, may see among 
 
308 ANNALS OF MY VILLAGE. 
 
 the grass, numerous egg-shaped capsules, with 
 three blunt angles and several spear-like leaves 
 rising round them. These are the germens of the 
 colchicum. The seeds that were buried during 
 winter with the root, have now the benefit of light 
 and air ; they ripen about the time of hay har- 
 vest, when the capsules open longitudinally, and 
 the seeds are scattered to the wind. 
 
 Why so much contrivance for a simple plant ? 
 why not allow that plant to flower and perfect 
 its seeds with others of the vegetable tribes ? It 
 seems the will of Deity to replenish this great 
 museum, in which his hand has placed us, with in- 
 numerable instances of his wisdom and benefi- 
 cence, that in no place, and at no season, should 
 manifest signs of that beneficence be wanting, to 
 fill our hearts with gratitude. 
 
 When the beautiful flowers of the spring and 
 summer are gone, and all the early birds have de- 
 parted to other climes, new flowers and new birds 
 appear in our fields and on our shores. Au- 
 tumn is enriched with much of vegetable beauty ; 
 even winter is not without its share. Who, that 
 has a heart to feel, can contemplate the little 
 meadow saffron thus rising amid cold winds, and 
 beneath cloudy skies, to clothe our meads with 
 beauty, so admirably constructed, and all its parts 
 
SEPTEMBER. 309 
 
 contributing to one end, without a thought of Him, 
 who careth for all that he has made ! 
 
 But the autumnal colchicum is not merely pleas- 
 ing to the eye, it is also valuable in medicine. 
 An infusion of the roots in vinegar, formed into a 
 syrup with honey or sugar, is a useful pectoral. 
 In its virtues it resembles squills, but is less nau- 
 seous and acrimonious, though more sedative. 
 Sir Everard Home submits, that the clear tincture 
 is equally efficacious in curing gout, as the cele- 
 brated French remedy, Eau Medicinale, without 
 proving so destructive to the constitution. Yet 
 still, its application requires the utmost care ; for 
 so virulent are its effects, that even the fingers 
 have been benumbed in preparing it, and a single 
 grain, taken internally, has produced a burning 
 heat in the stomach, and other violent symptoms. 
 In many instances, it has proved fatal to hungry 
 cows ; but in general, both sheep and cattle shun 
 this plant, as if instinctively aware of 
 
 . "The baneful juice, 
 Which poisonous Colchian glebes produce." 
 
 Nor less useful in epilepsy and melancholia is 
 that graceful little flower, the scarlet pimpernel, 
 (anagallis arvensis,) the poor man's weather-glass, 
 which still enlivens our southern borders, and ac- 
 curately predicts approaching rain a sensitive pro- 
 perty thus noticed by the rustic muse 
 
310 ANNALS OF MY VILLAGE. 
 
 " Clos'd is the pink-eyed pimpernel, 
 'Twill surely rain, I see, with sorrow 
 Our jaunt must be put off till to-morrow." 
 
 Every part of this plant, reader, is, in a micro- 
 scope, singularly beautiful, and will amply repay 
 the trouble of minute investigation : the fruit is 
 a globe, divisible into two hemispheres ; the co- 
 rolla appears as if covered with spangles, the 
 stamens with purple and gold, and the leaves are 
 elegantly spotted underneath. Nothing can be 
 more exquisite than the symmetry of all its parts, 
 nor more brilliant than the colours, with which it 
 is invested and adorned. But it is not alone the 
 simple pimpernel, that elicits our regard, every 
 leaf and flower, even the minutest particle and 
 smallest insect, when submitted to a magnifier, 
 astonish us with new discoveries. What wonders 
 of creation has the microscope brought to light ! 
 Yet, who could have imagined, when a few tem- 
 pest-driven mariners kindled a fire on the sands 
 of Beotia, that the appropriation of a new strange 
 substance left among the extinguished embers of 
 that fire, would in after times, as Cuvier beau- 
 tifully observes, open to the naturalist a mini- 
 ature world, as populous and rich in wonders, 
 as that, which alone seems granted to his unas- 
 sisted senses ; that it would one day assist the 
 astronomer in discovering new suns and systems, 
 
SEPTEMBEK. 311 
 
 and ill numbering the stars of the milky way ; in 
 fine, that its most simple and direct appropriation, 
 as common grass, would enable the inhabitants of 
 the Baltic to cultivate, beneath the frosts of the 
 Polar regions, the delicious fruits of the torrid 
 zone ? 
 
312 ANNALS OF. MY VILLAGE. 
 
 OCTOBER. 
 
 Where are the songs of spring ? Ah, where are they ? 
 
 Think not of them ; thou hast thy music too, 
 While barred clouds deck the soft dying day, 
 
 And touch the stubble plain with rosy hue." 
 
 KEATS. 
 
 THE autumnal heavens are now clear and cold, 
 the dews lie thick upon the meadows, and hang 
 like pearls on every blade and leaf. Innumerable 
 gossamer webs are curiously spread on the damp 
 grass, or stretched across the hedges, as if to catch 
 the liquid pearls, that rest upon them. The long 
 woven threads appear like strings of smaller gems; 
 and such, as are caught on the complete foldings of 
 the web, beautifully reflect the prismatic colours 
 of the rainbow. 
 
 At this season, and early in the day, there is 
 generally a great mist, and a perfect calm ; not so 
 much as a leaf is heard to rustle on the trees. In 
 such parts, as are broken into hill and dale, you 
 
OCTOB.ER. 313 
 
 may see the fog lying in the valleys, serene as the 
 unruffled waters of a lake, while the high hills 
 rise like little islands covered with stubble fields, 
 richly tinted woods, and small white cottages, 
 whose windows glitter to the rising sun. Then 
 succeeds the bleating of the sheep, the cheerful 
 whistle of early labourers, and the shrill cry of 
 wakeful birds, chasing each other through the air, 
 or darting into the valley, where they are lost in a 
 sea of mist. 
 
 As the sun advances in the heavens, and the 
 day grows warm, the blackbird pours forth his 
 sweet mellifluous tones, as in the early spring; 
 the skylark soars and warbles, the woodlark 
 sings, and the soft cooing voice of the ring-dove 
 sounds from the woods. The shrill cries of wild 
 geese are also heard, occasionally, as they leave 
 the fens, to forage on rye-lands ; the rooks, too, 
 are in motion, they begin to sport, wheel rapidly 
 in playful circles, and repair their nests. 
 
 There is much also to admire in the beautiful 
 family of fungi. They are an appendage, and an 
 ornament to the autumnal woodlands, and delight 
 in sylvan moisture and decay. Few, among their 
 vegetable brethren, may equal them in elegance 
 and lightness, or in soft and varying tints, when 
 spangled with heavy dews, and brightened with 
 the beams of an October sun. We have a little 
 
314 ANNALS OF MY VILLAGE. 
 
 glen at a short distance from the village, shaded 
 by the deep rich pendent autumnal foliage of the 
 beech, and enlivened by some of the loveliest of 
 these fragile foresters. One species lifts up its 
 ivory, or light brown head, among the bright 
 green mosses ; another trembles, from the light- 
 ness of its form, in every passing breeze ; a third 
 glitters like a cornelian, on the root of some old 
 tree, or branch, that the wind has broken off. I 
 know very little of this elegant and evanescent 
 family, and therefore I cannot pretend to say what 
 species are either rare or common in the glen ; but 
 one species I do know, and that is the fairy-ring 
 agaric (agaricus arcades.) It grows among wild 
 thyme, eye-bright, and the birdVfoot clover, on a 
 beautiful lawn, that borders the Ebworth woods. 
 Country people tell you, that the ring of deepest 
 verdure, which marks the growth and decay of this 
 interesting species, is trodden by nimble-footed 
 fairies, when they prank it merrily on the glittering 
 grass ; and, surely, if these tiny people ever footed 
 it elsewhere than in the poet's nightly fancies, no 
 lovelier spot could they select. Above it, are sweep- 
 ing woodlands, beside it, a deep glen full of beauty 
 and repose, the woodlark warbles there his nightly 
 carol, and a clear stream is heard to ripple over 
 its rocky bed. Here, too, the moonbeams often 
 shine so full and clear, and all is so beautiful and 
 
OCTOBER. 315 
 
 still, that, reader, you would scarcely fear to be 
 alone in that wild place, even at the witching hour 
 of deep midnight. 
 
 Resting in the promise of returning seasons, 
 the husbandman manures his grass-land, that it 
 may yield abundantly, and digs his potatoes in 
 expectation of approaching frost. He also sows 
 his corn for the coming year, and if the weather 
 be not too wet, he ploughs up the stubble-field, 
 for winter-fallow. This also is the season for 
 planting fruit and forest trees ; and he who thus 
 employs himself, confers a benefit on his country 
 and posterity. Even the cottager, who sets an 
 apple-tree in his little garden, or an elm or 
 maple in the hedge-row, has done something to 
 leave the earth better than he found it. The 
 gardener continues the usual occupations of Sep- 
 tember, and plants his early cabbages in the places 
 where they are intended to remain. 
 
 On high, Orion lifts his head above the eastern 
 horizon, Gemini are also visible, and the Eridanus 
 gleams and glitters in the same direction. 
 
 A few flowers still linger in the fields; the 
 pansy, white behen, black nonsuch, hawkweed, 
 bugloss, gentian, and small stitchwort. The 
 honeysuckle puts forth, occasionally, a pale and 
 slightly scented flower in the hedge, and the 
 mallow and the fever-few look like strangers, who 
 
316 ANNALS OF MY VILLAGE. 
 
 have returned, after a lapse of years, to their na- 
 tive village, and find none to welcome them. 
 
 The last rose of summer may be also seen in 
 warm sheltered garden-borders, but all its young 
 companies are gone and withered. There, too, is 
 the smooth golden-rod, farewell-summer, autumnal 
 narcissus, St. Remy's lily, and China-aster, but 
 these give us little or no pleasure ; they are not to 
 us, as the fair young flowers, that we have loved in 
 early childhood, companions of the spring, and 
 cradled in sunbeams, and in showers. When they 
 open on the autumnal border, they awaken no 
 fond associations in the heart, they cannot tell of 
 other days, nor call up the images of early youth ; 
 no, they are like the love of strangers the greet- 
 ings of those whose friendship is but of yesterday. 
 They may be good and kind, they may be 
 amiable, useful too, pleasant in their order and 
 succession ; but we have not shared with them 
 the sunbeam, and the shadow; they have not 
 heightened the sunny glow of our young hearts, 
 nor cheered us in moments of depression. 
 
 But if the bright young flowers of the spring 
 are gone, if the stately train of summer matrons 
 have passed by, and strangers usurp their places 
 in the garden-border, yet still our woods and 
 hedge-rows present a succession of old friends, 
 whom we prize more highly in proportion as we 
 
OCTOBER. 317 
 
 know them better. They remind us of those 
 plain-looking people, whom the self-approving 
 haughty world " sweeps with her whistling silks, 1 ' 
 scarcely deigning to notice, or else regarding them 
 as cyphers, but of whom she is not worthy ; who 
 employ their every thought and leisure in such 
 silent labours of unassuming love, as she neither 
 knows nor heeds. There is the holly, (ilex aqui- 
 folium,J with its polished leaves and ripening 
 berries, preparing a rich winter repast for the 
 little birds, that love their own woods and fields 
 too well to leave them ; and how wonderful is 
 the construction of this valuable evergreen ! 
 
 " O, reader ! hast thou ever stood to see 
 
 The holly-tree? 
 The eye that contemplates it well, perceives 
 
 Its glossy leaves, 
 Ordered by an intelligence so wise, 
 As might confound the atheist's sophistries. 
 
 Below a circling fence, its leaves are seen 
 
 Wrinkled and keen ; 
 No grazing cattle through their prickly round 
 
 Can reach to wound ; 
 
 But as they grow where nothing is to fear, 
 Smooth and unarmed the pointed leaves appear." 
 
 The ivy, too, the dark growing ivy (hedera* 
 
 * A name conferred on this plant by Pliny, and ingeniously 
 conjectured to be a corruption of adhseret, because it adheres or 
 clings to other plants. 
 
318 ANNALS OF MY VILLAGE. 
 
 helix) spreads its greenish white blossoms and 
 ample leaves over the neglected wall, or sunny 
 bank, covers the cottage-chimney, or the warm 
 side of the old barn, creeps along the hedge-row, 
 or runs up the pollard, and the stems of trees, and 
 offers in all these dissimilar situations its rich 
 open cup to the little houseless insects, that repair 
 to them as to their daily bread. Some would pro- 
 scribe, and utterly annihilate the ivy. This ob- 
 trusive plant, they say, insinuates its fibres into 
 the bark of trees, and insidiously destroys them. 
 But Mr. Repton endeavours to exonerate the ivy 
 from this aspersion ; he proves that it is not de- 
 trimental to trees, that its support is solely derived 
 from the root, that it often operates as a preserva- 
 tive from the effect of cold, and that some of the 
 largest and soundest forest-trees are such as have 
 been entwined with its branches for a great 
 length of time. He infers, also, that if this orna- 
 mental evergreen was subject to less general perse- 
 cution, much benefit would arise both to the agri- 
 culturist and sportsman. I may also notice, that 
 when apricots and peaches are covered with] ivy, 
 early in the spring, they generally produce an 
 abundant crop ; and that cows, when kept at winter 
 grass, eat it with great avidity, as we have fre- 
 quently regretted to observe in a neighbouring 
 hedge, where beautiful festoons of ivy were de- 
 
OCTOBER. 319 
 
 stroyed by the browzing cattle : similar festoons 
 are often covered, during the present month, with 
 innumerable winged creatures. The peacock but- 
 terfly (io vanissa) riots in the open cup, with its 
 wings expanded to the sunny gleam; the grand 
 admiral butterfly (vanissa atalanta) is also there, 
 and displays its gorgeous pinions in striking con- 
 trast to the delicate white cabbage butterfly, (pa- 
 pilio brassicce,) which hovers round, as if to 
 ascertain the reason of such a concourse, while 
 crowds of great black flies, (musca grosses,) with 
 their numerous relatives, rise, when disturbed, 
 from the banquet, with an angry hum. Who, 
 then, can justly depreciate the ivy, the dark 
 green ivy, that hospitable plant, of which the open 
 cups are vegetable fountains, secreting a sweet 
 liquor, always flowing, always full, fed by the 
 early or the latter expansion of the bud, and 
 yielding a constant supply of nourishment, till the 
 little day of insect life is over, or the constant 
 pensioners retire into winter quarters ? It offers, 
 too, a roost to the helpless little birds, a hiding- 
 place from the wind, and is often their only shelter 
 in the coldest season of the year. 
 
 See how kindly He who called forth both trees 
 and grass for the use of man, and every herb bear- 
 ing seed for those that fly along the air, has 
 strengthened the leaves of these unassuming ever- 
 
320 ANNALS OF MY VILLAGE. 
 
 greens with strong tendinous fibres, that the 
 crushing shower, or rude autumnal wind, may not 
 break them off. 
 
 The petals partake of the same character. 
 They have nothing in common with the delicate 
 fragile blossoms of the peach, the nectarine, pear, 
 and apple, or such fruit-trees, as generally open to 
 soft showers and gentle breezes. A strong tena- 
 cious viscid juice is also most abundant at the base 
 of every leaf, in order to protect them from the 
 cold and damp; the leaves, too, are so highly 
 varnished, that the rain may pour off without 
 sinking into the parenchyma. After a heavy 
 shower, when the clouds are chased by the wind, 
 and the sun breaks forth in all his strength and 
 brightness, it is beautiful to observe how soon 
 these smooth polished leaves become dry, and how 
 vividly they glitter in his beams. 
 
 The great Creator of the universe has also 
 assigned others of the vegetable tribes to feed both 
 autumnal birds and insects. The deep-red berries 
 of the marsh and common elder, are now fully 
 ripe; and though injurious to poultry, are eagerly 
 sought for by several migratory birds; those of 
 the black briony, or ladyVseal, hang in graceful 
 festoons upon the bushes ; the briar, or dog-rose, 
 the sweetest decoration of the coppices in May, is 
 covered with graceful berries ; the ripening clus- 
 
OCTOBER. 
 
 ters of the blackberry afford a treat to the school- 
 boy, and a meal to the linnet; hips and haws 
 sparkle in the hedges, and the spindle-tree, unfold- 
 ing its light green calyx to the sun, discovers a 
 double row of vermilion seeds. 
 
 The woods and hedges are generally rich with 
 all the splendour of autumnal foliage. But in the 
 immediate neighbourhood of our village, the 
 circling beech-woods, and those tufted groves, that 
 stand so close and thick in the midst of pleasant 
 meadows and white cottages, frequently retain 
 their dark green tints till the beginning of this 
 month, while here and there a branch assumes 
 that rich mellowness of colour, which reveals ap- 
 proaching winter. Then, if the weather continues 
 fine, and the matron face of Nature still seems to 
 smile with an inward consciousness of delight, as 
 the warm sun shines brightly on the fading land- 
 scape, first one branch, and then another, deepens 
 to the eye. Those, that were yesterday of a bright 
 yellow, assume now a shade of orange, then of 
 ochre, till, at length, the woodland presents an 
 infinite variety of every shade and hue, from deep 
 yellow to dark brown ; and no language can ade- 
 quately express the exquisite beauty of these 
 mingling tints. 
 
 But, if the weather become cold, and the heavens 
 cloudy if the evenings are generally wet, and the 
 
324 ANNALS OF MY VILLAGE. 
 
 These living clouds consist of wild geese and 
 ducks, pochards, wigeons, and teals. 
 
 The two former visit us in considerable num- 
 bers, and frequent the Ebworth fish-ponds, the 
 latter are rarely seen. Their early or late arrival 
 is noted by the country people, as betokening the 
 character of the ensuing winter. If numerous 
 and early, they expect that snow will lie long 
 upon the ground, and that the frost will be severe. 
 
 Surely it is no small proof of the goodness of 
 Divine Providence, that these annual visitations 
 are adjusted with an obvious reference to the local 
 disadvantages of the countries, they visit. Ducks 
 and geese of various kinds are diffused through 
 different portions of the globe, but it is solely in 
 the northern regions that their vast squadrons are 
 seen spreading over the plains and along the 
 shores. 
 
 Who does not acknowledge in this arrangement 
 the master-hand of a superintending Being exert- 
 ing his power in a manner calculated to excite at 
 once our gratitude and admiration ! These cold 
 inhospitable regions afford little subsistence to the 
 inhabitants : their crops of grass are generally 
 scanty, in some herbage is unknown, and the rocks 
 yield no pasturage for cattle. But the Most 
 High, though He does not permit them to enjoy 
 fruitful seasons, has not left them without wit- 
 
OCTOBER. 325 
 
 nesses of his power and beneficence. The sea 
 pours in her annual banquets, and myriads of sea- 
 fowl resort to their inhospitable shores. Who 
 does not recognize, in this wonderful arrangement, 
 the hand of the supremely wise, of Him, who re- 
 members the Smolonsko in his solitary dwelling, 
 who thinks of the savage Samoide and blesses 
 him ; who forgets not the isolated Obeyan, last of 
 men, on whom the light of true religion has never 
 dawned, and who sees, as through a " darkened 
 glass," the God, that has created and sustains 
 him ! 
 
ANNALS OF MY VILLAGE. 
 
 NOVEMBER. 
 
 " There is, who deems all climes, all seasons fair ; 
 
 There is, who knows no restless passion's strife 
 Contentment, smiling at each idle care ; 
 Contentment, thankful for the gift of life. 
 
 " She finds in winter many a view to please ; 
 
 The morning landscape fring'd with frost-work gay, 
 The sun at noon seen through the leafless trees, 
 The clear calm ether at the close of day." 
 
 SCOTT. 
 
 FOREST trees generally lose their leaves about the 
 beginning or middle of this month ; if the wind 
 is high, and the frost becomes severe, the defolia- 
 tion often suddenly takes place. The wood- walks 
 are covered, in one night, with a deep rustling bed 
 of leaves, and the naked branches display their 
 elegant ramifications against the wintry sky. 
 
 The sycamore, and chesnut, lime and ash, first 
 lose their foliage; the elm retains its verdure a 
 little longer, the beech and oak later than the rest. 
 
NOVEMBER. 
 
 This gradation is very obvious in travelling from 
 the richly-wooded plain of Evesham to the windy 
 range of the Charford vales. The hills, that 
 guard and shelter them, are covered with exten- 
 sive beech-woods; these frequently exhibit a 
 beautiful variety of rich mingling hues ; while, in 
 the vale, the trees, which principally consist of 
 ash and elm, either standing singly or in groups, 
 are bare of leaves. 
 
 Most of the late summer and early autumnal 
 flowers are now gone, and a new race succeeds 
 them on the sheltered garden-border. These are 
 the mountain violet, and red stapelia, the sweet 
 colt's-foot, pale gentian, althaea frutex, and late 
 golden rod. They are not to us, and they never 
 can be, as the sweet young flowers of the spring, 
 as the primrose and the violet, or even as the 
 peeping Nanny, and fair-maid of February : but 
 we like to see them open to the winter's sun, they 
 are a new and welcome race, their names do not 
 awaken any lingering regrets, or mournfully re- 
 mind us of past pleasures, and approaching storms 
 
 Some will tell you that November is a melan- 
 choly month, that the vegetable world is dead' 
 and mute the tuneful ; but to me there is music in 
 the gusty wind, as it hurries the eddying leaves from 
 out the sheltered nook and corner ; there is also an 
 indescribable feeling of delight in the breaking forth 
 
ANNALS OF MY VILLAGE. 
 
 of a clear invigorating sunshine after fog and rain, 
 and the lighting up of the dripping landscape, 
 when the bright green of the ivy, daphne, and 
 holly, every blade of grass, and tuft of moss, 
 stand forth in all the vividness and freshness of a 
 new creation. 
 
 Very pleasant, too, is the November walk at 
 noon, when the clouds fly before the wind, and 
 the sun has warmed the fresh cool air. It is de- 
 lightful also to tread upon the soft bed of rustling 
 leaves, that cover the forest walks, to observe the 
 folded sheep, that are now principally fed with 
 turnips, and in sharp weather with hay to see 
 the labourers busily employed in hedging, or 
 ploughmen eager to finish their work before the 
 hard frost sets in ; carts carrying marl, chalk, or 
 clay, to spread abroad on light soils ; and in 
 orchards, the transplanting and pruning of fruit- 
 trees. Nor are the fields and hedges without, at 
 least, one musician to enliven the labours of the 
 husbandman. 
 
 The sharp twittering of little troops of joyous 
 chaffinches, that congregate together at this season, 
 is also heard in unison with the deep soft cooing 
 of the wood-pigeon, the latest of the winter birds 
 of passage, and the cheerful song of the grey 
 wren. 
 
 O ! what lessons of patience and contentment 
 
NOVEMBER. 329 
 
 may be learned from these uncomplaining crea- 
 tures ! How often do their cheerful songs, in the 
 hardest weather, when the snow lies deep upon 
 the ground, reprove the anxious solicitude of 
 distrustful man ! 
 
 " Behold, and look away your low despair ; 
 See the light tenants of the barren air : 
 To them, nor stores, nor granaries belong, 
 Nought but the woodlands, and the pleasing song ; 
 Yet, your kind heav'nly Father bends his eye 
 On the least wing that flits along the sky. 
 To Him they sing, when spring renews the plain 
 To Him they cry, in winter's pinching reign ; 
 Nor is their music, nor their plaint in vain : 
 He hears the gay, and the distressful call, 
 And with unsparing bounty fills them all. 
 Will He not care for you, ye faithless ! say 1 
 Is He unkind 1 Or, are ye less than they ?" 
 
 THOMSON. 
 
 There is also much in the present month to ex- 
 cite the attention of the naturalist, to lead him to 
 consider by what a beautiful series of expedients, 
 the great Creator provides for the security of the 
 insect tribes. 
 
 Various species now quit their usual haunts, and 
 betake themselves in search of safe hybernacula ; 
 some, indeed, defer this important movement till 
 after the commencement of hard weather, but 
 generally speaking, they are intent on securing 
 
330 ANNALS OF MY VILLAGE. 
 
 winter quarters, during the warmest autumnal 
 days. Tribes of beetles are seen alighting on 
 walls, rails, and pathways, running into crevices 
 and cracks, and exploring every nook and cranny. 
 Some prefer the cavernous shelter of a stone, a 
 bed of moss, or the warm side of an old wall or 
 bank; others select for a retreat, lichen,, or ivy- 
 covered interstices in the bark of aged trees, or 
 the rugosities around their root ; others, again, 
 penetrate the earth to a considerable depth, while 
 the aquatic tribes retire beneath the mud of their 
 own pools, or in the moss and tangled herbage 
 that clothe the banks. Each selects a dormitory 
 adapted to its constitution, mode of life, and indi- 
 vidual necessities. Such, as can bear the cold, 
 provide only a slight covering ; such, as are more 
 tender, burrow beyond the reach of frost, or else 
 in substances that defend them from an injuriously 
 low temperature. As the cold increases, their 
 animal functions cease, they breathe no longer, 
 nor do they require either food or air. It is very 
 pleasing to contemplate innumerable tribes of in- 
 sects, thus laid up at rest in their wintry quarters, 
 safe from all contingencies, quietly resting after 
 their summer sports and labour: to think how 
 wonderfully they are protected and preserved, 
 amid stormy and inclement seasons ; that when 
 plants cease to vegetate, and flowers to put forth 
 
NOVEMBER. 331 
 
 their petals, they require neither the protection of 
 the one, nor the sweet juices of the other. 
 
 Yet, there are some, which enliven this usually 
 dull season, and sport gaily in the light of every 
 sunbeam, that struggles through the clouds. Even 
 when the ground is covered with snow, as fre- 
 quently occurs on our windy hills towards the end 
 of November, I have seen troops of the trichocera 
 hiemalisy those sportive little gnats, whose choral 
 dances enliven our summer evenings, assemble in 
 a sheltered place at noon, and foot it away as 
 merrily as in May. They seem all life and glee ; 
 they heed not the dreariness of every thing around 
 them, the buried surface of the earth, or the wintry 
 aspect of the heavens ; intent only on enjoyment, 
 each season is to them alike, and thus 
 
 . " They mix and weave 
 Their sports together in the solar heam." 
 
 As November advances to a close, hybernating 
 and amphibious animals generally retire into win- 
 ter quarters. The hedgehog prepares a warm 
 nest of moss and grass, where it is often found so 
 encircled with herbage on all sides, as to resemble 
 a ball of dried leaves ; the badger remains much- 
 at home, though occasionally the print of his small 
 steps on the new-fallen snow, announces that he 
 does not become dormant during winter; field- 
 
330 ANNALS OF MY VILLAGE. 
 
 winter quarters, during the warmest autumnal 
 days. Tribes of beetles are seen alighting on 
 walls, rails, and pathways, running into crevices 
 and cracks, and exploring every nook and cranny. 
 Some prefer the cavernous shelter of a stone, a 
 bed of moss, or the warm side of an old wall or 
 bank; others select for a retreat, lichen, , or ivy- 
 covered interstices in the bark of aged trees, or 
 the rugosities around their root ; others, again, 
 penetrate the earth to a considerable depth, while 
 the aquatic tribes retire beneath the mud of their 
 own pools, or in the moss and tangled herbage 
 that clothe the banks. Each selects a dormitory 
 adapted to its constitution, mode of life, and indi- 
 vidual necessities. Such, as can bear the cold, 
 provide only a slight covering ; such, as are more 
 tender, burrow beyond the reach of frost, or else 
 in substances that defend them from an injuriously 
 low temperature. As the cold increases, their 
 animal functions cease, they breathe no longer, 
 nor do they require either food or air. It is very 
 pleasing to contemplate innumerable tribes of in- 
 sects, thus laid up at rest in their wintry quarters, 
 safe from all contingencies, quietly resting after 
 their summer sports and labour : to think how 
 wonderfully they are protected and preserved, 
 amid stormy and inclement seasons; that when 
 plants cease to vegetate, and flowers to put forth 
 
NOVEMBER. 331 
 
 their petals, they require neither the protection of 
 the one, nor the sweet juices of the other. 
 
 Yet, there are some, which enliven this usually 
 dull season, and sport gaily in the light of every 
 sunbeam, that struggles through the clouds. Even 
 when the ground is covered with snow, as fre- 
 quently occurs on our windy hills towards the end 
 of November, I have seen troops of the trichocera 
 hiemalis, those sportive little gnats, whose choral 
 dances enliven our summer evenings, assemble in 
 a sheltered place at noon, and foot it away as 
 merrily as in May. They seem all life and glee ; 
 they heed not the dreariness of every thing around 
 them, the buried surface of the earth, or the wintry 
 aspect of the heavens ; intent only on enjoyment, 
 eacli season is to them alike, and thus 
 
 ' 
 
 . " They mix and weave 
 Their sports together in the solar heam." 
 
 As November advances to a close, hybernating 
 and amphibious animals generally retire into win- 
 ter quarters. The hedgehog prepares a warm 
 nest of moss and grass, where it is often found so 
 encircled with herbage on all sides, as to resemble 
 a ball of dried leaves ; the badger remains much 
 at home, though occasionally the print of his small 
 steps on the new-fallen snow, announces that he 
 does not become dormant during winter; field- 
 
332 ANNALS OF MY VILLAGE. 
 
 mice shelter themselves in warm nests beneath the 
 ground ; and the bounding, glad-hearted squirrel,, 
 nestles in his leafy citadel, except when constrained 
 to visit the store of winter provisions, which he has 
 carefully secured near his nest. The harmless frog 
 shelters itself in ponds and ditches ; and the lizard 
 retires to some hollow in the bank. Bats, though 
 always stirring when the warmth of the atmos- 
 phere is equal to fifty degrees of the thermometer? 
 retire during colder weather to barns, outhouses, 
 caverns, or coalpit-shafts, where they remain sus- 
 pended by the claws of the hind feet, and closely 
 wrapped up in the membranes of the front ones. 
 
 Other species, on the contrary, are universally 
 alert and active. Salmon begin now to ascend the 
 rivers both in Wales, Ireland, and Scotland; and 
 bright, dappled trout glide with new alacrity 
 through our little streams. This graceful species 
 is equally distinguished for its agile motions and 
 elegance of form and colour. They delight in 
 sparkling brooks, that abound with water-cresses, 
 or in little streamlets, that flow swiftly through 
 green meadows, now open to the sun, and now 
 shaded on either side with overhanging branches, 
 that feather to the water's edge. Such is our 
 own little river, as it passes by TotneFs ancient 
 garden wall, and through those beautiful meadows, 
 on which, but a few weeks since, the colchicum 
 
NOVEMBER. 333 
 
 seemed to spread a purple light. While looking 
 along the brink of its clear and lovely stream, 
 I have often observed the exquisite appearance of 
 the trout, as they lay quietly on the water, bask- 
 ing in the gleam of a November sun : till alarmed 
 by the rustling of the leaves, or even by the sha- 
 dow of a cloud, they have suddenly darted down- 
 wards with astonishing rapidity, and yet so lightly 
 as scarcely to agitate the surface. 
 
 These, with others of the kind, are well adapt- 
 ed to their native element. They have their loves 
 and hates, their joys and sorrows, in common with 
 all, that live and move on land, in air, or water 
 But few particulars concerning them have reached 
 us. Our steps are not upon their fields, neither 
 can we look into their oozy dwelling-places, nor 
 through that aqueous medium, which encircles and 
 protects them. Yet it may well detain us, rea- 
 der, a few moments, to consider their exquisite 
 adaptation to the element, in which they move. 
 
 To an eye, that could follow the rapid course of 
 one of these living creatures, even down the cur- 
 rent of our little river, and embrace in a compre- 
 hensive glance the whole of its admirable mecha- 
 nism, what exquisite arrangements, what just pre- 
 cision, what perfect symmetry, might be seen 
 in every part ! 
 
 The visual organ beautifully adapted to receive 
 
ANNALS OF MY VILLAGE, 
 
 the rays of light through an aqueous medium, and 
 protected by a clear transparent membrane. Teeth 
 arranged in exact accordance with the habits of 
 aquatic animals, the points turned backwards like 
 those of a wool or cotton card, and continually re- 
 newed, in contradistinction to those of terrestrial 
 ones evidently for this reason, that the period of 
 duration, assigned to the inhabitants of the water, 
 is far more extended than in such, as live on land. 
 The organs of hearing admirably constructed for 
 receiving sonorous vibrations in a dense medium ; 
 destitute of an external concha, because unneces- 
 sary, but furnished internally with hard and cal- 
 careous substances, placed in a fluid, and provided 
 with so large a plexus of nerves, as to render the 
 sense of hearing remarkably quick. The organ 
 of smelling, a beautiful arrangement of ligaments, 
 laminae, nerves, and glands, attached in such a man- 
 ner to a wonderful apparatus, situated on the lower 
 part of the snout, as to render even the undula- 
 tions of the water sufficient to warn the animal of 
 any approaching danger. Senses of taste and 
 feeling imperfect, if not altogether wanting, be- 
 cause unnecessary to creatures, that select their 
 food by those of seeing and smelling. The body 
 covered with scales of the most minute and exqui- 
 site workmanship, adjusted, with the nicest preci- 
 sion, to the ever-moving element which it is de- 
 
NOVEMBER. 335 
 
 signed to occupy. And, lastly, colours varying 
 from a golden hue to mottled and sober tints. 
 
 Such are the most obvious characteristics of the 
 common trout ; and however the aquatic tribes may 
 differ in size and structure, the same admirable 
 adaptation to existing circumstances is observable 
 in each. From the Cape of Good Hope to the 
 Isthmus of Suez, from the palm-encircled lakes of 
 the torrid zone to the cold and stony rivers of piti- 
 less Labrador, whatever passes through the paths of 
 the great waters, has a form, a structure, and a 
 garment adjusted with the nicest precision to its 
 wants and circumstances. 
 
 The operations of nature, like those of Provi- 
 vidence, are equally interesting in their minuter 
 parts. The hand of Deity is confessed in the 
 magnificence of creation ; in those creatures that 
 perambulate the " liquid weight of half the globe;" 
 but in the morning frost-work his influence is no- 
 ticed by few. Yet, what more beautiful or wor- 
 thy of remark, than the intricate, varied, and ele- 
 gant crystallizations, that often form on our win- 
 dows during a November night, an effect produced 
 by that silent, rapid, invisible agent, which men 
 call frost. As the month advances to a close, its 
 operations are still more wonderful and striking. 
 The ever moving surface of the brooks, that flash- 
 ed and sparkled to the sunbeams, are changed, in 
 
336 ANNALS OF MY VILLAGE. 
 
 one night, into a firm crystal pavement, the waters 
 are congealed into ice, they are clothed as with a 
 breast-plate; rapid streams are also arrested in 
 their course ; and the little waterfalls present clus- 
 ters of transparent pillars. 
 
 . " And thus, it freezes on, 
 Till morn, late rising o'er the drooping world, 
 Lifts her pale eye unjoyous. Then appears 
 The various lahour of the silent night ; 
 Prone from the dripping cave and dumb cascade, 
 Whose idle torrents only seem to roar, 
 The pendant icicle, the frost-work fair, 
 Where transient hues, and fancy'd figures rise. 
 The forest bent beneath the plumy wave, 
 And by the frost refin'd, the whiter snow, 
 Incrusted hard, and sounding to the tread 
 Of early shepherd, as he pensive seeks 
 His pining flock, or from the mountain top, 
 Pleas'd with the slippery surface, swift descends." 
 
 THOMSON. 
 
 In frosty weather, the constellations are also very 
 brilliant. They shine out "intensely keen," and 
 one starry glitter seems to fill the immensity of 
 space. Aquarius, Pisces, Aries, Taurus, Gemini, 
 and Cancer, appear on the ecliptic ; the great and 
 lesser Bears, Cassiopeia, Cepheus, Perseus, Auriga, 
 the beautiful Pleiades, the Dolphin 's-head, and 
 Swan, the Lyre, and part of Bootes, are visible in 
 different portions of the heavens at ten at night. 
 
337 
 
 DECEMBER. 
 
 . . . . " The cherish'd fields 
 
 Put on their winter-robe of purest white : 
 
 'Tis brightness all, save where the new snow melts 
 
 Along the mazy current. Low the woods 
 
 Bow their hoar heads ; and, ere the languid sun, 
 
 Faint from the west, emits his evening ray, 
 
 Earth's universal face, deep hid and chill, 
 
 Is one wild dazzling waste, that buries wide 
 
 The works of man." 
 
 THOMSON. 
 
 READER ! there is much in this dull month to in- 
 terest you, to call forth the best affections of the 
 heart, to cause you to think of Him, who appoints 
 the stormy winds and driving shower to fulfil his 
 purposes of love. 
 
 Have you never thought, that without these 
 cloudy days, that driving sleet, and fierce east 
 wind, of which you often so unreasonably com- 
 plain, that the valleys could not be filled with 
 corn, nor the pastures with increase ; that like the 
 
338 
 
 ANNALS OF MY VILLAGE. 
 
 ups and downs, the crosses and privations of this 
 changing state, they are the harbingers of fruitful 
 seasons, to fill your heart with gladness and thanks- 
 giving ? 
 
 This is a season of repose throughout the vege- 
 table world, the business of the spade and plough 
 is equally suspended ; there may be little to amuse 
 you in the fading landscape : but then that little 
 is so fraught with outward signs of wisdom and 
 beneficence, that the heart, which does not feel 
 some interest in beholding them, must be indiffe- 
 rent to the wonders of creation. 
 
 Even at this cold season, a few solitary plants 
 look green and pleasant in the hedges. There is 
 neither earing nor harvest, the corn is laid up in 
 the barn, and the autumnal fruits are gathered in ; 
 but that Almighty Being, without whose permis- 
 siop not even a sparrow falls to the ground, is at- 
 tentive to the privations of these helpless crea- 
 tures, and remembers them in mercy. 
 
 The common groundsel (senecio* vulgaris) af- 
 fords a ready supply of food to most of the win- 
 ter birds. This hardy perennial grows wherever 
 its slender fibrous roots can penetrate the earth. 
 If the snow freezes on the leaves, when the sun 
 arises, or the soft south wind begins to blow, its 
 
 * Derived from senex, an old man, alluding to the hoary ap- 
 pearance, as exhibited in S. tenuifolius. 
 
DECEMBER. 339 
 
 greenness revives, and that degree of damp which in- 
 jures every other kind of esculent plant, but slightly 
 affects it. The chickweed (stellaria* gramimea) is 
 also a citizen of the vegetable kingdom. It grows 
 in almost every situation, from damp and boggy 
 woods to the driest gravel-walks, and is conse- 
 quently subject to great variations. The severi- 
 ties of winter do not even interrupt its vegeta- 
 tive powers. It produces ripe seeds within eight 
 weeks from the period of their being sown, and is 
 thus renovated seven or eight times, during the 
 course of the season. When the seeds are fully 
 ripe, the six-valved capsule becomes reversed, and 
 discharges them upon the earth. Some are sown 
 where they fall, others are scattered by the wind, 
 and the rain forces them into the soft mould, 
 whence they rapidly reappear, and thus ensure, 
 throughout the year, a plentiful support for the 
 smaller birds. 
 
 This simple plant is also an excellent barometer. 
 When its little white flowers open fully in the 
 morning, no rain is likely to fall for some hours ; 
 when half concealed, we have showery weather; 
 but if shut up, and covered with its green leafy 
 mantle, reader ! you will do well to stay at home. 
 
 The ivy, the dark growing ivy, the holly with 
 
 * From stella, a star, descriptive of the star-like, or radiated, 
 appearance of the blossom. 
 
 Z 2 
 
340 ANNALS -OF MY VILLAGE. 
 
 polished leaves, "and berries red," berry-bear- 
 ing thorns and brambles, are still employed, in 
 ministering to those poor way-faring creatures that 
 fly along the heavens. I have also observed, in 
 severe snowy weather, that the thrush kind search 
 out the warm and pungent root of the cuckoo- 
 pint, when growing on the dry hedge-banks, and 
 that they eagerly attack the ripe berries of the 
 wild briar, which hang late upon the leafless 
 branches. 
 
 "The woods are stripped with the wintry winds, 
 
 And faded the flowers that hloom'd on the lea ; 
 But one lingering gem the wanderer finds, 
 "Tis the ruby fruit of the wild-briar tree. 
 
 The strong have bowed down, the beauteous are dead ; 
 
 The blast through the forest sighs mournfully ; 
 And bared is fully many a lofty head ; 
 
 But there's fruit on the lowly wild-briar tree. 
 
 It has cheer'd yon bird, that, with gentle swel), 
 Sings, ' What are the gaudy flowers to me 1 
 
 For here will I build my nest, and dwell 
 
 By the simple, and faithful, wild-briar tree /' " 
 
 Our winter plants possess, in common with their 
 Alpine brethren, that faculty of generating orga- 
 nic heat, which enables them to endure the se- 
 verest cold. Many are so fragile and so deli- 
 cate, so minute, and even liable to be broken by 
 fierce winds, that their preservation cannot be at- 
 
DECEMBER. 341 
 
 tributed to any rigidity of the fibres, or sap ves- 
 sels. No ; they owe to that latent heat, their pre- 
 servation and their increase. The thermometer 
 often rises when applied to certain species ; and all 
 are warmer, by some degrees, than the atmospheric 
 air. Seeds, also, that remain unburied on the earth, 
 are thus preserved from the effect of cold. Nor 
 less extraordinary is the check given to the flowing 
 of the sap, and to the growth of trees, by the be- 
 numbing influence of winter. This is the real 
 cause of those circles, that beautifully diversify 
 the wood, that appear on cutting a tree across, 
 and silently attest, how many seasons have passed 
 by, since it emerged from an acorn, nut, or mast. 
 These circles are most numerous towards the 
 north ; there, too, the bark is thickest, and moss 
 and hoary lichens most abundant. By such indi- 
 cations, Indian hunters often direct their steps 
 across the interminable forests of the new world. 
 Nor less surprising is it, that in the colder climates, 
 many of our forest trees, as, for example, the ash 
 and horse-chesnut, produce the embryo of their 
 leaves and flowers in one year, and bring them to 
 perfection in the next. A winter consequently in- 
 tervenes. But how wonderfully are the trials and 
 privations of that stern season provided for ! 
 these tender embryos are, in the first place, wrap- 
 ped up with a compactness, which no art can imi- 
 
34$ ANNALS OF MY VILLAGE. 
 
 tate, and in this state they compose the bud. 
 The bud itself is enclosed in scales, which are 
 formed from the remains of past leaves, and the 
 rudiments of future ones. Neither is this all. In 
 the boreal regions, a third preservative is added ; 
 the tender bud is covered with a coat of gum or 
 resin, that resists the hardest frost. On the ap- 
 proach of spring, this gum is softened, and ceases 
 to hinder the expansion of the leaves and flowers. 
 All this betokens a system of provision, which has, 
 for its object, the production and perfecting of the 
 seeds. 
 
 And how kind and wise is that arrangement, 
 which impels such troops of winter birds to settle 
 on the British shores, and furnishes ample means 
 for their support ! The tempest-loving curlew 
 (scolopax arquata) is seen occasionally near the vil- 
 lage. The common woodcock (scolopax rusticola) 
 is also here ; he has journeyed from the Alps of 
 Norway, from Sweden, Polish Prussia, the marshes 
 of Brandenburg, and other northern parts of Eu- 
 rope. In Sweden, the time of his appearing and 
 disappearing exactly tallies with that of his arri- 
 val and retreat from Britain. The redwing (tur- 
 dus iliacus) announced his approach ; and the 
 royston crow (corvus comix) informed us of his 
 being come. Myriads of his congeners attend him, 
 though the journey is long and weary ; they arrive 
 
DECEMBER. 343 
 
 in small detachments about the seventh of Octo- 
 ber, and then in larger parties, till the end of De- 
 cember, but always after sunset. They come in 
 quest of insects, and if obliged to contend with 
 adverse winds, are sometimes so exhausted, as to 
 be readily taken by the hand. 
 
 We may also enumerate the jack, and common 
 snipe, the green, dusky, and red-legged sander- 
 lings, dotterels, dunlins, and common oyster-catch- 
 ers, among the winter birds of passage, that visit 
 Britain at this season of the year, though rarely 
 seen about our village. They rather affect the 
 side of heathy mountains, or sandy shores and 
 inlets of the sea, where insect food is most abun- 
 dant, and snow seldom lies deep upon the ground. 
 
 It is cheering, also, to observe, how kindly its 
 Creator has provided for that poor helpless crea- 
 ture, the common snail; and how wonderfully it 
 is sheltered and protected in its hollow-wreathed 
 chamber, from the fierce east winds and driving 
 rains, that prevail during this bitter month. 
 
 Other animals have their proper retreats, their 
 hybernacula also, or winter quarters ; but the snail 
 carries these about with him. He travels with his 
 tent ; and this tent, though both light and thin, 
 is impervious either to moisture or to air. The 
 young helix, like his numerous brethren of the fa- 
 mily of univalve, emerges into life with a covering 
 
344 ANNALS OF MY VILLAGE. 
 
 adapted to his exigencies, and this enlarges as he 
 grows, by means of a certain viscous exudation 
 from innumerable pores. Now, the aptness of this 
 secretion to the purposes, for which it is designed, 
 its property of congealing into a firm and hard 
 cretaceous substance, independently of any effort 
 on the part of the inhabitant, cannot be referred, 
 as Paley justly observes, to any other cause than 
 express design, and that not on the part of the 
 unconscious architect, who, although he might 
 build the house, could not supply the materials. 
 Moreover, the form of the pillar and convolution 
 is, not only, a very artificial one, but admirably 
 adapted to the exigencies of the inhabitant ; which 
 is confessedly one of the most feeble and defence- 
 less of created beings. The sealing up of the 
 opening, which serves as an effectual protection 
 against the cold of winter, is also admirably adapt- 
 ed for warmth and for security. But the cement 
 is not of the same substance with the shell, evi- 
 dently, because the inmate would be then unable 
 to break down the enclosing barrier, when return- 
 ing spring invites him from his winter quarters. 
 
 Nor is the construction of the inmate less de- 
 serving of attention. This feeble creature is soft, 
 spungy, and diaphanous ; furnished with horns or 
 antennae, at the extremity of which, the eyes are 
 situated, appearing like small dark spots, black, 
 
DECEMBER. 345 
 
 sparkling, and orbicular. These, on the approach 
 of danger, are rapidly drawn down, together with 
 the horns, into the head, which immediately dis- 
 appears beneath the shell. In the course of a few 
 seconds, the horns reappear, the eyes run up the 
 narrow transparent channel, down which they had 
 descended, and the helix journies on his way. 
 
 Now the reason for this peculiar construction is 
 obvious. The snail is thus enabled to command a 
 more extensive sphere of vision, than if the eyes 
 were differently situated. Moreover, the pliability 
 of the antennas enables them to turn in different 
 directions, while the ease, with which they are ex- 
 tended or retracted like a pocket telescope, admits 
 the ready withdrawing of the head into the shell 
 an arrangement that beautifully harmonizes with 
 the extreme weakness of the creature. 
 
 The movements of the common snail are re- 
 markably slow. But how shall we account for 
 this extraordinary fact, since the creature is light 
 and small, and apparently by no means incapable 
 of comparatively rapid motion ? Doubtless by 
 the viscid nature of the juices, which are tardy in 
 their circulation, and consequently produce a con- 
 siderable degree of sluggishness. 
 
 A casual observer might pity the poor creature. 
 But, let it not be forgotten that this apparent de- 
 fect is amply compensated. The peculiar nature 
 
346 ANNALS OF MY VILLAGE. . 
 
 of the j uices seems to have a reference to his mode 
 of life ; for no degree of natural or artificial cold 
 has ever been sufficiently powerful to congeal 
 them. Thus, while the common worm, which in- 
 cautiously leaves its shelter in the garden-mould, 
 is frequently discovered in a frozen state, and even 
 birds and small animals fall victims to the severity 
 of the weather, the snail is rendered insensible 
 to cold, and either burrows in the earth, or 
 seeks the shelter of some hollow tree, till able to 
 leave his subterraneous dormitory. 
 
 This species belongs to a very numerous and 
 comprehensive tribe of terrestrial creatures, which 
 are destitute of feet. But, the want of these is 
 obviated by such a disposition of the muscles and 
 fibres of the trunk, as to produce a progressive 
 and undulatory movement of the body, in any 
 direction to which the will determines it. This un- 
 dulatory motion occasions the exudation already 
 noticed, which not only materially assists the 
 common helix in adhering to extraneous sub- 
 stances, and climbing walls and trees in quest of 
 food, but is also essential to his safety, as he has 
 frequently occasion to travel along ceilings with 
 the shell reversed. 
 
 But why such an extraordinary combination to 
 provide for the security and promote the comfort 
 of an obscure shell-fish ! Reader ! let this great 
 
DECEMBER. 347 
 
 truth be solemnly impressed on your rnind, God 
 has made nothing in vain : it is a clue, that will 
 safely conduct you through many intricate mazes 
 in the great system of nature, as far, at least, as 
 it is permitted to finite beings to explore them. 
 In many instances, we are unable to comprehend 
 the intention of the Deity with regard to the con- 
 struction of his creatures ; in others, their uses are 
 so obvious, that they cannot be mistaken. For 
 my own part, I confess, that when I see the 
 common snail, slowly ascending the cavernous 
 trunk of some aged tree, or climbing up a garden- 
 wall, without the aid of wings or feet, ropes or 
 pullies, solely by means of the viscid humour dis- 
 charged from his skin, and consider the secret 
 spark of life, which he possesses, I fear for his 
 safety. But in this, as well as in innumerable in- 
 stances, where we look for absolute destitution, "and 
 can reckon upon nothing but wants," when some 
 admirable contrivance amply compensates for every 
 apparent deprivation, my mind is carried up to 
 the praise and adoration of that great Being, 
 whose wisdom, beneficence, and power, are thus 
 conspicuous in the humblest of his works. 
 
 There is, still, another lesson to be learned in 
 this sharp month ; other objects that may well in- 
 vite us to look within, and see, if we, like them, 
 are meekly bearing the privations of this changing 
 scene. 
 
348 ANNALS OF MY VILLAGE. 
 
 When the frost lies thick upon the ground, and 
 all the streams are frozen up, troops of confiding 
 little birds pay their annual visit to trusted man. 
 The grey wren seeks a snug corner in the thatch, 
 or hay-rick, sparrows and chaffinches fly in crowds 
 around the barn or kitchen-door, and larks take 
 shelter in the warm stubble ; while blackbirds and 
 thrushes are seen peeping from their hiding-places 
 in the loaded hedges ; and field-fares, that migrate 
 from the arctic regions, settle in the neighbourhood 
 of towns. If the sun shines out, and the bleak 
 east wind is still, you may hear the thrush and 
 blackbird bid welcome to the sunny gleam, and 
 body forth such enchanting notes, as no instrument, 
 nor sweet sound of warbling voice, can imitate ; 
 the wren and hedge-sparrow will also do their best 
 to tell you how thankful they are ; and honest 
 
DECEMBER. 349 
 
 robin, too, chants it as cheerfully on the leafless 
 branches in December, as in May. We are sent 
 to the ant to learn industry ; to the dove, for an 
 emblem of innocency why not to this fond con- 
 fiding little bird, to learn patience and equani- 
 mity, and to keep our minds in a quiet even tenor, 
 as well at the approach of calamities' winter, as at 
 the spring of happiness. 
 
 Hearken also to the cricket (acheta campestris) 
 on the hearth, that merry creature, which passes 
 the hottest summer months in sunny places. Her 
 usual haunts are now white with snow ; the green 
 trembling blades, and scented flowers, that grew 
 around, are all nipt and withered, and if a sunny 
 gleam wander thither, as if by chance, it cannot 
 suffice to cherish her with a kindly warmth. But 
 she does not lie down by the way-side to perish in 
 despair; no, her light springing limbs soon bear 
 her to some crevice in the nearest hall or cottage, 
 and there her cheerful voice is heard as merrily 
 beside the warm hearth at Christmas, as in the 
 dog-days. Observe how wonderfully, how cu- 
 riously she is made, and what a shrill noise is 
 occasioned by the brisk attrition of her wings. 
 If the crackling faggot was to fail, and there was 
 no bright blaze upon the hearth, she would retire 
 with her congener to the nearest hiding-place, 
 there to sink into a temporary torpor ; but as soon 
 
350 ANNALS OF MY VILLAGE. 
 
 as the fire is re-lit, forth they come, and again 
 their cheerful voices are heard in unison with the 
 crackling blaze. The village matron regards 
 them with a kind of superstitious reverence ; and 
 though the heated atmosphere, which they in- 
 habit, often inclines them to sip her milk and 
 broth, or even to gnaw holes in her wet aprons, 
 and woollen stockings, when hung up to dry, 
 they are to her barometers that never fail. If 
 they sing more merrily than usual, and seem to 
 rejoice in the warm roof that shelters them, rain 
 approaches ; if they bound suddenly from their 
 lurking-places, some dear friend is coming, or 
 good luck of some kind ; if their cheerful voices 
 become faint, then there is sorrow in the wind, 
 one of the bairns will sicken, or labour fail. 
 
 The canary, too, sings in concert with the 
 flying shuttle of the weaver, or to amuse the 
 village matron at her wheel, when the rain is 
 beating against the casement, and the wind rudely 
 shakes it, as if to force an entrance. Our cot- 
 tagers are fond of keeping birds; the bulfinch, 
 blackbird, and thrush, are often made prisoners, 
 but the canary is a prime favourite that sprightly 
 and affectionate little songster, which warbles 
 through the year, and is, consequently, our chosen 
 friend. It enlivens us when the frosts of winter 
 are abroad, and heightens the pleasures of the 
 
DECEMBER. 351 
 
 social circle. It amuses the young, cheers the old, 
 and often varies the monotony of a sick chamber. 
 
 Now, courteous reader ! I have brought my 
 pleasant labours to a close. Perhaps these labours 
 may excite within you a love for similar pursuits, 
 and then, if placed in scenes of rural quiet, you 
 may thank me for directing your attention to the 
 great museum that surrounds you. But if your 
 lot is cast in a crowded city, even then it may not 
 displease you to retrace with me the sites of those 
 fair flowers, that open to the purest air of heaven ; 
 to hear something of the loves and friendships of 
 such gentle creatures, as frequent our woods and 
 meadows, and much that I have seen and felt 
 among the hills and valleys of my own sweet vil- 
 lage. Beautiful they were in spring, in summer, 
 and in autumn ; even now, .that winter has wrapt 
 them in her snowy vest, they are still beautiful ; 
 and I have thought them so, reader ! when not a 
 leaf was heard to rustle on the trees, and when 
 careering clouds were driven by gusty winds along 
 the heavens ; for then, amid the deep beech- woods, 
 and on the common, I have seen such traces of 
 love, beneficence, and wisdom, that my heart has 
 glowed within me ; and there, too, I have often 
 listened to that small still voice, which seems to 
 speak throughout the universe. It spake to Adam 
 in the earliest spring-tide of the world it speaks 
 
ANNALS OF MY VILLAGE. 
 
 to you, reader ! of whatever rank you are, whether 
 among the great ones of the earth, or among those, 
 who assimilate in outward station with Him, who 
 had not where to lay his head. It tells you some- 
 thing of the laws, by which myriads are regu- 
 lated, of the instincts, by which they are impelled, 
 of that Almighty Power, who has placed you in 
 this fair world to contemplate and adore his great- 
 ness. Happy are you, if you confess him in his 
 works, the Creator in the things created ; yet even 
 these are but a little portion of his wonders. We 
 now see them through a darkened glass, and 
 hardly with searching can we comprehend a few 
 of the most obvious ; but a period will arrive, 
 when the veil shall be removed, when the under- 
 standing of the redeemed shall be opened to com- 
 prehend the glories, and the wonders of creation, 
 when they will know, even as they are known. 
 
 Obtain, dear reader ! a foretaste of these plea- 
 sures, endeavour to know something of his works, 
 who has created and sustains you. Listen not to 
 the narrow counsels of those, who unthinkingly 
 assert, that a taste for them will militate against 
 such knowledge, as alone can make you wise unto 
 salvation. Patriarchs and prophets rejoiced in the 
 works of nature. David spoke of them in strains 
 of gratitude and adoration : your Lord has told 
 you to observe the flowers of the field, the birds 
 
DECEMBER. 353 
 
 that fly along the heavens ; He illustrates his 
 most important truths by referring to a grain of 
 corn, a vine, a mustard-seed, and will you disre- 
 gard Him? Let it be daily your delight, to 
 trace his beneficence in the visible creation, to 
 adore, and to acknowledge Him, in all his works ; 
 but stop not here there are greater things than 
 these, even that love to fallen man, of which the 
 driving shower and loud wind in this dull season, 
 the bright flowers of advancing spring, summer's 
 cloudless skies, and the rich fields of autumn, may 
 forcibly remind you.* 
 
 * Isai. Iv. 10, 11 ; St. John iii. 8 ; St. Matt. vi. 28 30 ; St. 
 Matt. iii. 16, 17 ; St. Matt. ix. 37, 38. 
 
 A A 
 
ERRATA. 
 
 Page 32, line 4, for xir. of December, read xxn. 
 71, 6, for noted, read to note. 
 75, 20, for allequa, read allegua. 
 
 78, 23, insert white fee/ore hare. 
 
 79, 4,/or at Cheltenham, read to Cheltenham. 
 95, 15,/or It, read I. 
 
 118, 20,ybr gallipaoo, read gallipavo. 
 7, for domestic, read maternal. 
 125, 2, for flowers, read flower. 
 186, 15,/or twenty-five, read fifteen. 
 237, 20, omit the before smaller ones. 
 253, 20,/or vanissio, read vanissi io. 
 272, 3,/br straggler, read stranger. 
 303, 18,/or ends, read end. 
 306, (note,) omit dim before Euxine. 
 311, line 3,/or grass, read glass. 
 
INDEX. 
 
 ABORIGINES of the neighbourhood, 180. 
 Ants, industry of, 154. 
 
 , instincts of, 155. 
 
 Apis manicala, nest of, 282. 
 
 Apples, kinds of, cultivated round the village, 285. 
 
 April, new constellations in, 72. 
 
 , farming business in, 73. 
 
 Autumn seeds, construction of, 300, 301. 
 
 f dispersion of, 302, 303. 
 
 Autumnal foliage, beauty of, 321. 
 , change of, 322. 
 
 Bat, wonderful construction of, 20, 21. 
 
 Bean-garden, 47. 
 
 Bee, common, enemy of, 242. 
 
 , humble, anecdotes of, 233 238. 
 
 , construction of, 177. 
 
 Beech-tree, natural history of, 184 188. 
 
 = , finest specimens, where, 185. 
 
 Birds, movement of, in August, 227. 
 
 , language of, 55 57. 
 
 sing through the year, 166, 167. 
 
 , singing of, how produced, 161 166. 
 
 , affection towards their young, 129 136. 
 
 , what kinds of, seen round the village, 510. 
 
 A A 2 
 
356 INDEX. 
 
 Bird, lady, 256, 257. 
 
 Botanical clock, 264. 
 
 Bramble, 202. 
 
 Butterflies, different kinds of, white, marble, brown, blues, 253. 
 
 , latest sorts of, 281. 
 
 Butterfly, brimstone, when first seen, 63, 64. 
 
 Canary, 350. 
 
 Caterpillars, geometer, descent from trees, 188, 189. 
 
 Chickweed, 339. 
 
 Chrysalis, a, how disengaged from the earth, 143. 
 
 Cirencester, anciently Corinium, 181. 
 
 Clothing trade carried on in the village, 218. 
 
 Clouds, remarks on, 96 104. 
 
 Columnar forms, where seen, 277. 
 
 Commemorative flowers, 263. 
 
 Constellations, prominent ones in November, 336. 
 
 , new, visible in March, 50. 
 
 Corn, grain of, 48. 
 
 Corn-flower, 265. 
 
 Cottage, visit to a, 259. 
 
 Cricket, 349. 
 
 Crickets, field, pleasing sound of, 244. 
 
 Cross-bill, where found, 11. 
 
 Crow, Royston, 342. 
 
 Crystals of snow and hoar-frost, 13. 
 
 Cuckoo, 9092. 
 
 , pint eaten by thrushes, 340. 
 
 Curlew, 342. 
 
 Daisy, description of, 27 . 
 
 Day and night, contrast between, 249. 
 
 December, instructions to be derived from, 337. 
 
 , plants common in, 338 341. 
 
 Demoralizing effect of rural festivities, 148. 
 
 Dobuni, who they were, 181. 
 
 Dovedale, progressive vegetation in, 34. 
 
 Ducks, wild, where seen in the neighbourhood, 324. 
 
INDEX. 357 
 
 Earth-worms, how useful, 25. 
 
 Eggs of insects, how secured, 14. 
 
 Elder-tree, 199. 
 
 Ephemerae, common, evening dances of, 159. 
 
 Esculents, introduction of, 289 292. 
 
 February, birds that build in, 30. 
 
 , rains of, beneficial, 24. 
 
 , flowers and constellations of, 26. 
 
 Ferns in the neighbourhood of the village, 212 214. 
 
 Fieldfares, arrival of, 290. 
 
 Fish, wonderful construction of, 333, 334. 
 
 Flowers, wild, in the neighbourhood of the village, 205 211. 
 
 , calendar of, in March, 50 54. 
 
 in April, 89, 90. 
 
 in May, 125. 
 
 in June, 
 
 in July, 255. 
 
 in August, 263. 
 
 in September, 306 310. 
 
 in October, 315, 316. 
 
 in November, 327. 
 
 Forget-me-not, origin of the name, 267. 
 Frost, effects of, 335, 336. 
 Fungi, different kinds of, where seen, 314 316. 
 
 Gallinule, nest of, 116. 
 Garden, pleasures of, 251. 
 
 , advantages of, to cottagers, 251. 
 
 Geese, wild, where found, 324. 
 
 Glass, use of, 310. 
 
 Gleaning season, ancient custom of, 275. 
 
 Glow-worm, 245. 
 
 Gnats, winter dances of, 331. 
 
 Goatsucker, 127. 
 
 Grasses adapted to all seasons, 152, 153. 
 
 Greece, calendar of nature in, 31, 32. 
 
 Guelder-rose, 201. 
 
358 INDEX. 
 
 Hare, remarks on the, 78. 
 
 Harvest-field, 262. 
 
 Harvest -home, 276. 
 
 Harvest-mice, where found, 269. 
 
 Hatton-hall, 137. 
 
 Hay-making, 172. 
 
 Hedge-hog, 38. 
 
 Hen and her chickens, 117. 
 
 Hesiod, his rules for rural life, 72. 
 
 Hirundines, care for their young, 141. 
 
 , migration of, remark on, 294. 
 
 , departure of, from Britain, 293. 
 
 Hoar-frost, 13. 
 
 Hohhy, 129. 
 
 Holly, 317. 
 
 Hop, 256. 
 
 Humming-bee, nest of, 232. 
 
 Insects, dances of, 159 161. 
 
 , how protected in the winter, 329, 330. 
 
 , noises of, 161. 
 
 , habitations of, 228 232. 
 
 January, singing birds in, 5. 
 
 , constellations visible in, 19. 
 
 June, morning and evening walk in, 169, 170, 
 Ivy, its uses, 318. 
 
 Kidney-bean, when first seen in the village, 2 
 Kingfisher, where seen, 280. 
 , mode of fishing, 281. 
 
 Ladybird, 256. 
 Lambs, 54. 
 Language of birds, 55. 
 Leaves, opening of, 65, 66. 
 
 , how constructed, 67 69. 
 
 Linnaeus, advice to his countrymen, 69, 70. 
 Linton, glow-worm at, 246, 247. 
 Luxuries for the cottager, 268. 
 
INDEX. 359 
 
 March, new constellations visible in, 50. 
 
 , flowers now open in, 50 54. 
 
 Martin nest, how constructed, 137, 138. 
 
 sand, nest of, 140. 
 
 remarks on the, (an animal,) 88. 
 
 May, new constellations in, 124. 
 
 , migratory birds that arrive in, 125 129. 
 
 , husbandry business in, 151. 
 
 Meadow-saffron, wonderful construction of, 307. 
 
 Meadow-saffron, 306. 
 
 Metamorphosis of caterpillars, remarks on, 254. 
 
 Migratory birds that arrive in April, 8894. 
 
 Migrations of the swallow tribe, by whom noticed, 106, 107, 
 
 Mole, 37. 
 
 Mole-cricket, 157, 158. 
 
 Moonlight scene, 249. 
 
 Moth gamma, where seen, 255. 
 
 , great goat, 144. 
 
 Mosses, 33, 34. 
 Maple, 200. 
 
 Natural calendar suggested by Linnoeus, 69. 
 Nest of the long-tailed titmouse, 115. 
 
 willow wren, 115. 
 
 Nests, different situations of, 109 111. 
 
 beautiful construction of, 111, 112. 
 
 Nightingale, 88 90. 
 
 Night, insects that fly by, 243. 
 
 Northern regions chiefly visited by wild fowl, 324. 
 
 , remarks on, 325. 
 
 November, flowers in, 327. 
 
 1 new constellations in, 336. 
 
 , pleasures of, 328. 
 
 , insect tribes, security of, in, 330. 
 
 , some few animals hibernate in, 331. 
 
 Observations, concluding, 351 353. 
 October, natural appearance in, 312, 313. 
 
360 INDEX. 
 
 October, husbandry work in, 315. 
 
 , new constellations in, 315. 
 
 , last flowers of, 316. 
 
 Ostorius, mount of, how situated, 170. 
 
 ? view from the summit of, 178. 
 
 > rural sights to be seen from, 173 176. 
 
 Ows, different kinds of, 279. 
 Owl, hunted by small birds, 279. 
 , hooting of, 61, 62. 
 
 Pee-wit, 10. 
 
 Pigeons, attention to their young, 120, 121. 
 
 Pig, keeping of, beneficial, 260. 
 
 Pimpernal, scarlet, use of, 309. 
 
 Ploughing season, 41. 
 
 Plover, grey, where found, 11. 
 
 Polecat, history of, 85. 
 
 Potatoes, when first planted near the village, 287. 
 
 , colours for dying extracted from, 288. 
 
 Proboscis of the bee, how constructed, 177. 
 Progressive vegetation, effects of, 33, 34. 
 
 Rabbits, natural history of, 7378. 
 
 , advantage of keeping them, 260. 
 
 Rainbow, 95. 
 
 Rains of February, how useful, 44. 
 
 Raspberry, 203. 
 
 Redbreast, 5. 248. 
 
 Redwing, 342. 
 
 Rock pigeon, movements of, 298. 
 
 Roman roads, 182, 183. 
 
 Rook, account of, 57 51. 
 
 Seeds, constitution of, 46. 
 
 , wonderful dispersion of, 298306. 
 
 September, new-risen constellations in, 292. 
 
 , departure of birds of passage in, 293, 294. 
 
 , fresh arrivals in, 296, 297. 
 
INDEX. 361 
 
 Serpent, venomous, remarks on, 227. 
 Shedding month in Sweden, when, 322. 
 Sheep, parent, instinct of, 174. 
 Sheepshearing, 173. 
 
 , remarks on, 174. 
 
 Snail, common, how constructed, 343 347. 
 
 Snake, common, 225. 
 
 Snow, use of, 13. 
 
 Snow-drop, a favourite flower, 26. 
 
 Sparrow, house, 6. 
 
 , hedge, 7. 
 
 Spider water, 282. 
 
 Spider's web, 3. 
 
 Spindle-tree, 199. 
 
 Squirrel, natural history of, 70 84. 
 
 Starlings, 29. 
 
 Swallow, chimney, 105. 142. 
 
 Swallow tribe, departure of, 294 296. 
 
 Swallows, arrival of, 93. 
 
 Sweden, calendar of nature in, 32. 323. 
 
 Swift, 104. 
 
 Sycamore, 199. 
 
 Teasel, where found, history of, 215. 
 
 , its cultivation and uses, 216 218. 
 
 Threshing, 
 
 Throstles, arrival of, 297. 
 
 Titmice, blue, cole, great, black-headed, marsh, tong-tailed, 9. 
 
 Trees, forest, defoliation of, 322. 
 
 Tremadoc, effect of progressive vegetation in, 35. 
 
 Tricloptera order, insects of, how disengaged from their cases, 
 
 144 146. 
 
 Trout, where best seen, and beautiful construction of, 332 334. 
 Turkey, love for her young, 119. 
 
 Vervain, 209. 
 
 Village, description of the, 179. 
 
 Villagers, former ignorance of, 141>. 
 
362 INDEX. 
 
 Vineyards, once common near the village, 285, 
 Violet, lines on a, 52. 
 Viper, where seen, 225. 
 
 Wagtail, white, yellow, grey, 7. 
 
 Waldenses, mountain retreats of, 34. 
 
 Walk, evening, delights of, 159. 163. 170. 
 
 Wassel bowl, 147. 
 
 Weasel, natural history of, 86. 
 
 Weather, signs of, 18. 
 
 Wheat first planted in the village, 286. 
 
 Whiteleaf tree, 193. 
 
 Whitsunyule games, 146. 148. 
 
 Winter birds of passage, 323, 324. 
 
 plants, how constructed, 320. 
 
 , how preserved, 341. 
 
 Woad, mode of gathering, use in dying, 22 4. 
 
 Woodcock, 34. 
 
 Woollen manufactory, when introduced, and by whom, 218223. 
 
 Wren, grey, 4. 
 
 golden crested, 8. 
 
 Wryneck, 93. 
 
 Yew tree, history of, 192 198. 
 
 , why first planted in churchyards, 197. 
 
 THE END. 
 
 LONDON : 
 
 IBOTSON AND PALMER, PRINTERS, SAVOY STREET, STRAND. 
 
WORKS BY THE SAME AUTHOR. 
 
 SELECT FEMALE BIOGRAPHY. 
 
 " It is rather to be wondered at, that we possess no complete biography of 
 celebrated women. The Dictionary by Matilda Bethune is not sufficiently 
 copious, nor are we acquainted with any other work of the kind, that may 
 supply the defect. Besides, in what we already have, how little is there 
 superior to the obituaries of our evangelical miscellanies. In such memoirs, 
 the spirit of biography is lost, all that makes life interesting is shut out, and 
 the composition becomes a mere narrative of the dying hour. It is the life, 
 and not the death, that we wish to see related, and from which amusement 
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 cere recommendation." Gentleman's Magazine. 
 
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 fully selected from the late Dr. Gibbon's ' Memoirs of Pious Women.' 
 More recent instances are added. The whole is expressed in modern lan- 
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 ence of the deceased : forming, altogether, a most interesting volume, to 
 those, especially, who may not have access to the larger works, and as such 
 we cheerfully recommend it." Evangelical Magazine. 
 
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 WONDERS OF THE VEGETABLE KINGDOM. 
 
 " This is a very interesting and elegant introduction to botanical science, 
 better adapted than any work we have seen to render the science subservient 
 to moral improvement, by enlarging the mind, and embuing it with a general 
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 render this sketch as complete as possible. The work is written in a pleasing 
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 vour of honourable intention and rational piety." Monthly Review. 
 
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 tequs nature so lavishly furnishes, and forms a useful compendium of bota- 
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Works by the same Author. 
 
 recommended a preceding work to young persons of our own sex, we cor- 
 dially recommend this to young ladies. Though the work is not expressly 
 religious, the style has a tincture of piety. The writer evidently endea- 
 vours to lead the reader to view the works of nature and providence with 
 the eye of a Christian. The work is equally instructive and entertaining." 
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 521 ; iii. 648, 649. 1015. 1058, &c. 
 
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 CONCHOLOGISTS COMPANION. 
 
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 tertaining compilations, and will not supersede the more regular introductions 
 to Conchology. It presents us, however, with interesting notices of the 
 economy of different families of testacae, and with the history of pearls, the 
 Tyrian dye, the ravages of the ship-worm, and account of fossil-shells, for 
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 it may be consulted as a cheap and accessible supplement to the technical 
 explanations and definitions. A few sentences relative to the family of 
 Solon, will afford no unfavourable specimen of the style of the performance." 
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 heightened and improved by associations of the highest nature." Herald of 
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 most strikingly to exhibit the power, wisdom, and beneficence of the Creator 
 of all things: a purpose in which we heartily concur, and on this ground 
 strongly recommend this work to our readers." Monthly Critical Gazette. 
 
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