=¢| j 72 ear iti roe: ist POky hei @ ASA LSS Daa BTU Bons i eb Oley rr fads tty to her Goust™ Be i i : J ee aa) ; Saas : — er 2 : —= A gy 4 3 . 1 ae", hg ie i S) ee , : i ta ere ie: Stas i’ Rh Fons Ce : Sate eel 4 - Ne : i . le bas ra fc Ry 2 PGT SGIOTCIOUT PT é FIOTCOUF Red- throated Hummin “ ING 1B, “NAC CTO at g Bird ae, i Qn | a. by f 6 | ( ry } { RURAL HOURS, BY “ lE a Ley tn | Pan 7) be “ And we will all the pleasures prove That valleys, groves; or hills, or field. Or woods, and steepy mountains yield.’’ MarLow. Ti Ay ky WU tSS ES ASAD! ted) ID) ast AD) Ie AW! It O) ANY INGE oar OR iy Ke: GHEORGHE P. PUTNAMs 155,BR0 A DIWAY . MAD CiCLC't Ih | Bo i ENTERED, according to Act of Congress, in the year 1850, by J. FENIMORE COOPER, in the Clerk’s Office of the District Court of the United States, for the Northern District of New York a ie EDWARD O. JENKINS, PRINT. AND STER., 114 Nassau street, New York. Porn kee ay eet. URE : Pamee Oe Mtge ah 2 aie. Pa THE AUTHOR OF “THE DEERRSLAYER,” TE Sh NODES ARE VERY RESPECTFULLY, GRATEFULLY, AND MOST AFFECTIONATELY INSCRIBED, AD Vet 1; AQF Les J A018; Tes. og na ae , ‘ : ‘ a t 1 ; +h nah r \ ¥ 7 er . ‘ a / wy ( ; “a . : ; { ; fs ; tof oe ‘ , ; meet : ‘ . y : , i oe : ; ee ' 2 esa Oh ‘ i far oc { aa din’ hy ¥ : i my a 1 ° * i. ry ; F ' , : ' Ci - ow - a - b * : +4 ¥ i ss f t ‘ ie ; =i . ~ a ry Toh a ' ' i hy a ‘ b : 7 ; or . i hy Sa « 4 ; y ; : oe i f iPS : 1 af y 7 J r or i i j | : , NP ; 7 ; i A eee’ i a ; a eet ie - , =< i ‘ > hing si fs : 7 y 7. i ‘ ‘ "it uy ) ves 4 c LY, t F % F 1 4 i te 1 4 t c, es . i iv F : i i a ‘ : 53 ’ : : a i is 3 ul G ' ll 4 7 ‘ | en VAL | i Pal s yy ey r i : : ' i et \ 1 —" f ‘ ' H : i fi ‘ ¥ u ‘ i i, P 4 j a! a : ; hy f i‘ 8 , 1 * 4 . r : a : a 3 , { H . % . ¥ . y 7 , uy { \ . , 1 . ot 5 a. Leute) pict teas tak ; 7 i . ie ‘ ae ' ae i a oe : f Ry y i * \ N | 4! . ‘ I t 5 ’ ¢ + f 9 : i * b in ' ’ ag 5 b 4 1 ai z i f H i ae a i 4 ; 7 : ‘ i , 1 4 i x i i . 1 ve u hee . ‘ i , ‘ R 4 ! = : : “ r J 5 fis A 1 ’ h han ; i. P] 4 P F ~ ‘ at - i U , J ; ' yi i , y J ri ‘ y ‘ ; " j i r 2 i d ve 1 4 fof oe 2° ae f 7 ; é ’ Aud a q a4 , i : iJ f f f 4 4 ue i - ‘ , H 2 Oe Ag / _ f , N Me t wy ‘ i , i ir a i alt; al & . as oe 4, * } ; f iY Sy . i u >) } { . 4 ; ‘ ' . ¢ : : ; i re ” i ! j an, , ‘ ‘> ™y : * th ee, ah} 4 * Me erode eal ay rivet Aire spi feptieca? ee ee edi Res hotelier oe Barwa edn teem ren dw ad de os ' t a “ us : yy 4 ‘ * ay : J v oft = | lal > ee yo PREFACE, Tue following notes contain, in a journal form, the sim- ple record of those little events which make up the course of the seasons in rural life, and were commenced two years since, in the spring of 1848, for the writer’s amusement. In wandering about the fields, during a long, unbroken residence in the country, one naturally gleans many tri- fling observations on rustic matters, which are afterward remembered with pleasure by the fire-side, and gladly shared, perhaps, with one’s friends. The following pages, therefore, are offered to the reader more from the interest of the subject, than from any merit of their own. They make no claim whatever to scientific knowledge, but it is hoped that they will be found free from great inaccura- cies; and we may add, that they were written at least in perfect good faith, all the trifling incidents alluded to having occurred as they are recorded. Should the volume give pleasure to any who, like the 1% vi PREFACE. honored Hooker, love the country, “‘ where we may see God’s blessings spring out of the earth,’? some little re- luctance with which it has been printed will be more than repaid to the writer. Marog, 1850. LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS. THE GOLDEN ORIOLE, : : 6 : FRONTISPIECE RED-THROATED HUMMING-BIRD, : : VIGNETTE. BLUE-BIRD, : : : . : : PAGE 20 PURPLE MARTIN, : : : . : : 60 CRESTED PURPLE FINCH, : : : : : 69 RED POLL WARBLER, : : : : 70 WHIP-POOR-WILL, . : . ° : 6 6 115 MEADOW LARK, . : : . : 5 : 219 BOBOLINK, : : . : : : : 234 CHIMNEY SWALLOW, . : : : : : 270 RED-HEADED WOODPECKER, : . S ° : 301 WOOD DUCK, . 3 : : : 6 : ; 308 BLUE JAY, : . 6 : 4 : : 3 310 RUBY-CROWNED KINGLET, . : . : 2 375 YELLOW-BILLED CUCKOO, : : : ; : 408 BALD EAGLE, : : . : 6 : ; 124 BECK’S-BIDENS, ‘ : . : : : : 169 LOBELIA, 5 : : ; : 6 223 CLIMBING FERN, 6 6 . . A : : 267 WILLOW-LEAVED GOLDEN ROD, . : 6 : 282 SIDE-SADDLE FLOWER, . : . : ; 368 mA ‘1 My H Py ews d 4 n 2s t 1 ) a Whe rl a anaes sherteey Poe Syreeromat “ 7 cmaaess ‘ eS ) - } i we Hepes ie ‘i , py . ci iy ' { ks : - > - " + { e Bi ear is ‘ . wy 6. ' ia ' ’ : . % a rr f ‘ [ Al a i & ‘ y ‘ : j P 4 , ae Te 44 tary Deas Ane pl - P F J ea x at ‘ t ‘ tar ay 6 ae er) eo | rg i < , vt Oe eS . TO oe Ne 8 el sbon'x Oba Bibesehitte ‘ i ti i a9, oh! a, . m wad 7 A cee 7 ry a Batter i hts enews , ‘ Baaue j ) Tes 4 Cun Mars 8 i “ 7) f 1) Mi nC mmenerer emma) et oye Pam ON Lee a, 7 1 ’ : re i of y . 7 4) . 1% ita ees te ‘ hat Ae Pe be ¥i,¢ hes eI ai he ; uy e ‘ip been ] ' . i “0 5 ’ Ir (Ls RURAL HOURS. SPRING. Saturday, March 4th.—Everything about us looks thoroughly wintry still, and fresh snow lies on the ground to the depth of a foot. One quite enjoys the sleighing, however, as there was very little last month. Drove several miles down the valley this morn- ing inthe teeth of a sharp wind, and flurries of snow, but after facing the cold bravely, one brings home a sort of virtuous glow which is not to be picked up by cowering over the fireside ; it is with this as with more important matters, the effort brings its own reward. , Tuesday, Tth.—Milder ; thawing. Walking near the river this afternoon, we saw a party of wild ducks flyimg northward; some few of these birds remain here all winter, but they are seldom observed except by the sportsman; these were the first we had seen for several months. In the spring and autumn, when so many of the different varieties are passing to and fro, they are common enough. ‘Three large waterfowl also passed along in the same direction ; we believed them to be loons; they were in sight only for a moment, owing to the trees above us, but we heard a loud howling cry as they flew past like that of those birds. It is |* 10 RURAL HOURS. early for loons, however, and we may have been deceived. They usually appear about the first of April, remaining with us through the summer and autumn, until late in December, when they go to the sea-shore ; many winter about Long Island, many more in the Chesapeake. Not long since we saw one of these birds of un- usual size, weighing nineteen pounds ; it had been caught in Seneca Lake on the hook of what fishermen call a set-line, dropped to the ‘depth of ninety-five feet, the bird having dived that distance to reach the bait. Several others have been caught in the same man- ner in Seneca Lake upon lines sunk from eighty to one hundred feet. It may be doubted if any other feathered thing goes so far beneath the water. There is however another, and a much smaller bird, the Dipper, or ousel, which is still more at home in the water than the loon, and that without being web-footed, but it is prob- ably less of a diver. The Dipper must indeed be a very singu- lar bird; instead of swimming on the surface of the water like ducks and geese, or beneath like the loons, or wading along the shores like many of the long-legged coast tribes, it actually runs or flies about at will over gravelly beds of mountain streams. Mr. Charles Buonaparte mentions having frequently watched them among the brooks of the Alps and Apennines, where ‘they are found singly, or in pairs, haunting torrents and cataracts with perfect impunity, or running hither and thither along the stony bottom of more quiet streams. They cannot swim, however ; and they drop suddenly into the water from above, or at times they walk leisurely in from the bank, flying as it were beneath the sur- face, moving with distended wings. Their nests are said to be » usually built on some point projecting over a mountain stream, either in a tree, or upon a rock; and the young, when alarmed, THE DIPPER AND THE BLUEJAY. nal instantly drop into the water below, for safety. They are not common birds even in their native haunts, but wild and solitary creatures, smaller than our robin, and of a dark, grave plumage. Until lately the Dipper was supposed to be unknown on this con- tinent, but more recently it has been discovered at several differ- ent points in our part of the world, frequenting, as in Europe, wild lakes and rocky streams of limpid water. The American bird differs slightly in some of its markings, from those of the Eastern continent. Wednesday, 8th.—Very pleasant day; quite spring-like. ‘The snow is melting fast. Spring in the air, in the light, and in the sky, although the earth is yet unconscious of its approach. We have weather as mild as this in December, but there is something in the fulness and softness of the light beaming in the sky this morning which tells of spring,—the early dawn before the sum- mer day. A little downy woodpecker and a bluejay were running about the apple-trees hunting for insects ; we watched them awhile with interest, for few birds are seen here during the winter. It is true neither the downy woodpecker nor the jay leaves this part of the country ; both remain here during the cold weather, but they are inactive, seldom roving abroad. Thursday, 9th.—Winter again; the woods are powdered with snow this morning, and every twig is cased in glittering frost- work. The pines inthe churchyard are very beautiful—hung with heavy wreaths of snow; but it is thawing fast, and before night they will be quite green again. This effect of the snow lodging on the trees is much less. frequent than one might suppose in our highland climate; it is seldom found to last more than a few hours at a time, soon vanishing before wind or sunshine ; indeed eee 19 RURAL HOURS. it scarcely occurs half a dozen times in the course of a winter: and it is the same with the hoar-frost on the branches, which is by no means so common a spectacle as a Cockney might fancy. ‘This morning both these specimens of winter’s handiwork are united, and the effect is very fine, though it looks as if sprmg might yet be a hundred years off. Friday, 10th—A bunch of ten partridges brought to the house ; they are occasionally offered singly, or a brace or two at a time, but ten are a much larger number than are often seen together. Last autumn we frequently came upon these birds in the woods—they were probably more numerous than usual. Sev- eral times they even found their way down into the village, which we have never known them to do before; once they were sur- prised in the churchyard, and twice they were found feeding among the refuse of our own garden. When this valley was first peopled by the whites, quails were also found here in abundance, among the common game-birds of the: region, but they have now abandoned us entirely ; one never hears of them, and it is said that they soon disappeared after the coun- try had been cleared. This is not according to their usual habits, for generally they are found to prefer the farm lands to the forest, feeding on different kinds of grain, building about fences, and rarely resorting to the woods. In some of the oldest parts of the country they are quite common, and so familiar, that in winter they will occasionally mingle with the poultry in the barn-yard. Instead of fearmg the advance of civilization, they would delight in it, were it not for the sportsman’s gun. It is true that in this county we approach the northern limits of the quail, for they are found from Iienduras to Massachusetts only; our Partridge or RURAL WALKS.—COLD WEATHER. 13 Pheasant, or Ruffed Grouse, as we should rather call it, is a more hardy bird, partial to mountains and wooded countries, and found as far north as Hudson’s Bay. Saturday, 11th.—Very pleasant. Walking on the skirts of the village this afternoon, we came to a fence blown down by some _ winter storm, and stepping over it strolled about the fields awhile, the first time we had walked off the beaten track since November. We were obliged to cross several snow banks, but had the pleas- ure at least of treading the brown earth again, and remembering that in a few short weeks the sward will be fresh and green once more. te 282 RURAL HOURS. a pyramidal head, has fragrant leaves. Another is common to both Europe and America; this is one of the smaller and insignfi- cant kinds, but the only plant of the family found on both conti- nents. Perhaps the golden-rods are not quite so luxuriant with us, and in the lower counties; the larger and more showy kinds seem more abundant in the valley of the Mohawk than upon our hills. Still, they are common enough here, lining all the fences just now. The silver-rod, or Soledago bicolor, abounds in our neighborhood ; the bees are very fond of it; at this season, and even much later, you often find them harvesting the honey of this flower, three or four bees on one spike. As for the Michaelmas daisies, they can scarcely thrive better anywhere than in our own region—common as possible in all tke fields and woods. There would seem to be a greater variety among these flowers than in any other family except the grasses ; botanists count some hundred and thirty American asters, and of these, about one-fourth belong to this part of the country. The difference between many of these is very slight, scarcely percep- tible to the casual observer; but others, again, are very strongly marked. We all note that some are quite tall, others low ; that some bear very small blossoms, others large and showy flowers ; some are white, others pinkish, others grayish, those purple, these blue. Their hearts vary also in color, even upon the same plants, according to the age of the different flowers, the centre being either yellow, dark reddish purple, or pale green; and this enli- vens the clusters very much. ‘The leaves, also, are widely differ- ent in size and form. All this variety, added to their cheerful abundance, gives interest to this common flower, and makes it a favorite with those who live in the country. They remain so long WILLOW LEAVED GOLDEN ROD. (Solidago Stricta.] CG F Putnam, Vi x Eraicotty Lits BIRD-BELLS. 283 in bloom, that toward the close of the season, the common sorts may all be found together. Some of the handsomer kinds, large, and of a fine purple color, delight in low, moist spots, where, ear- ly in September, they keep company, in large patches, with the great bur-marigold, making a rich contrast with those showy golden blossoms. It is well known that both the golden-rods and asters are con- sidered characteristic American plants, beng so much more nu- merous on this continent than in the Old World. Another flower, common in our woods just now, is the Bird- bell, the Nabalus of botanists. There are several varieties of these; the taller kinds are fine plants, growing to a height of four or five feet, with numerous clusters of pendulous, straw-col- ored bells, strung along their upper branches. If the color were more decided, this would be one of our handsomest wild flowers ; its numerous blossoms are very prettily formed, and hung on the stalks with peculiar grace, but they are of a very pale shade of straw color, wanting the brilliancy of warmer coloring, or the purity of white petals. These plants are sometimes called lion’s- foot, rattlesnake-root, &c., but the name of Bird-bell is the most pleasing, and was probably given them from their flowermg about the time when the birds collect in flocks, preparatory to their flight southward, as though the blossoms rung a warning chime in the woods, to draw them together. The leaves of the Bird-bell are strangely capricious in size and shape, so much so at times, that one can hardly credit that they belong to the same stalk ; some are small and simple in form, others are very large and ca- pricious in their broken outline. Plants are sometimes given to caprices of this kind in their foliage, but the Bird-bell indulges in 984 RURAL HOURS. far more fancies of this sort than any other with which we are acquainted in this neighborhood. Yellow Gerardias are in flower still im the woods, and so is the Hawk-wort. The blue Gentian is also m bloom now; though not common, it is found in spots about the lake. We gathered, this afternoon, some flowers of the partridge- berry and squaw-vine, the only spring blossoms still found in the | woods. Directly in the path, as we were going up Mount 1 WE also found a large dragon’s-claw, or corallarhiza; its brown stalk and flowers measured about fifteen inches in height, and it was divided into eight leafless branches. Thursday, 7th.—Cooler. Went down to the great meadow for. lady’s tresses, which grow there plentifully. Pretty and fragrant, these flowers are not unlike an autumn lily of the valley; one is. puzzled to know why they should be called lady’s tresses—possi- bly from the spiral twist of the flowers on the stalk. Gathered also a fine bunch of purple asters, and golden bur-marigolds ; these last were slightly fragrant. This evening we kindled our autumn fires. Friday, 8th.—Lovely day ; warm, silvery mist, gradually clear- ing to soft sunshme. Passed a charming morning at the Cliffs. The wych-hazel is in bloom; brown nuts and yellow flowers on the same twig. Gathered some speckled-jewels, partridge-berry, and squaw-vine blossoms. Found a purple rose-raspberry in flow- er; it is always pleasant to meet these late flowers, unlooked-for favors as they are. A year or two since the wild roses on this road flowered in September, a second bloom; and the same sea- son a number of our earlier garden roses bore flowers the second time as late as the 16th of September. BERRIES. 985 Blackberries still very plenty, and sweet; they have not brought any to the village lately, people seem tired of them. Found also a few red raspberries, whortleberries, and the acid rose-berry. This is a land of berries; a large portion of our trees and plants yield their seed in this form. Among such are the several wild cherries, and plums, the amelanchiers and dog-woods, the mountain ash, the sumachs, and the thorns; all the large bramble tribe, with their pleasant fruits, roses, raspberries, the blackberry, and the gooseberry ; the numerous whortleberries, and bilberries, vi- burnums, and honeysuckles, spikenards, and cohoshes ; pokeweed, the trilltums, the convallarias, and the low cornel, clintonia, and medeola ; the strawberry, the partridge plant, and squaw-vine, &c., &c. These are all common, and very beautiful while in season. Without going at all out of our way this morning, we gathered a very handsome bunch of berries, some of a dark purple, others light, waxy green, these olive, those white, this scarlet, that ruby color, and others crimson, and pale blue. The berry of the round- leaved. dog-wood is of a very delicate blue. The snowberry, so very common in our gardens, is a native of this State, but I have never heard of its being found in this county. 7 The birds were feasting upon all these berries at the Cliffs ; saw quite a gathering of them in a sumach grove, robins, blue-birds, sparrows, goldfinches, cat-birds, wild pigeons, and woodpeckers ; there were several others also perched so high that it was not easy to decide what they were. ‘The little creatures were all very ac- tive and cheerful, but quite songless ; a chirrup, or a wild call, now and then, were the only sounds heard among them. Saturday, 9th.—Pleasant morning in the woods. Much amused 286 RURAL HOURS. by squirrels. First found a little chipmuck, or ground squirrel, sitting on a pile of freshly-cut chestnut rails, at a wild spot in the heart of the wocds. The little creature saw us as we ap- proached, and took a seat not far from him; he moved quickly a few yards and then resumed his sitting position, with his face toward us, so as to watch our movements. He was holding some- thing in his fore paws, which he was eating very busily; it was amusing to watch him taking his dinner; but we were puzzled to know what he was eating, for it was evidently no chestnut, but covered with down, which he brushed away from his face, now and then, quite angrily. For nearly ten minutes he sat there, looking toward us from time to time; but we were curious to know what he was eating, and moved toward him, when he van- ished among the rails; he left a bit of his dinner, however ; this proved to be the heart of a head of half-ripe thistle, in which the seed had not yet formed ; it looked very much like a miniature ar- tichoke, and he seemed to enjoy it exceedingly. Returning to our seat, he reappeared again upon the rails. Presently a beautiful red squirrel made his appearance, m the notch of a tall old pine, perhaps fifty feet from the ground ; a hemlock had been uprooted, and in falling its head had locked in this very notch, its root was near the spot where we were sitting. ‘This squirrel is very fond of the cones of the hemlock, and other firs, and perhaps he had run up the half-prostrate trunk in quest of these; at any rate, he took this road downward. He paused every few steps to utter the peculiar cry which has given them the name of chickaree, for they often repeat it, and are noisy little creatures. He came de- liberately down the whole length of the trunk, chatting and wav- ing his beautiful tail as he moved along. After leaving the tree SQUIRRELS. 287 he played about, here and there, apparently in quest of nuts, and he frequently came very near us of his own accord; once we might have struck him with ease, by stretching out our parasols, His large eyes were beautiful. This kind of squirrel eats most of our grains, wheat, rye, buckwheat. He swims quite well, and is found as far south as the mountains of Carolina. His fur is thought the best among his tribe. Passing under a chestnut-tree by the road-side, we had farther occasion to observe how fearless the squirrels are in their inter- views with mankind. A little fellow was cutting off chestnut burs with his teeth, that they might drop on the ground ; he had already dropped perhaps a dozen bunches ; after a while he came down, with another large cluster of green burs in his mouth, with these he darted off into the woods, to his nest, no doubt. But he soon came back, and taking up another large cluster from the ground, ran off again. ‘This movement he repeated several times, without being at all disturbed, though he evidently saw us stand- ing a few yards from him. These gray squirrels are common in every wood, and they say that one of them is capable of eating all the nuts yielded by a large tree ; one of them had been known to strip a butternut-tree, near a house, leaving only a very meagre gleaning for the family. These little creatures sometimes under- take the most extraordinary journeys ; large flocks of them set out together upon a general migration. Some forty years since a great migration of this kind took place among the gray squirrels, in the northern part of this State, and in crossing the Hudson above Albany, very many of them were drowned, ‘This was in the year 1808. tes uu 288 RURAL HOURS. There 1s another larger gray squirrel not so common, called the fox squirrel, measuring two and a half feet in length. | The black squirrel is small, only a foot long; its fur is of a glossy jet black. We saw one this summer, but at a distance from our lake. They are nowhere very common, and are rather | a northern variety, not seen south gf Pennsylvania. There is a deadly feud between these and the gray squirrels, and as their enemies are the largest and the most numerous, they are invariably driven off the nutting-grounds when both meet. The two kinds are said never to remain long together in the same neighborhood. These, with the flying squirrel, make up all the members of their family found in our State. The pretty little flying squirrels are quite small, about nine inches long. They are found here and there through this State, and indeed over the Union, and in Mex- ico also. ‘They live in hollow trees, but we have never had the good luck to meet one in our rambles. They are seldom seen, | however, in the daytime, dozing away until twilight. Monday, 11th.—Church-yards are much less common in this country than one might suppose, and to judge from the turn things are takmg now, it seems probable this pious, simple cus- tom of burying about our churches, will soon become obsolete. As it is, the good people of many rural neighborhoods must make which to read Gray’s Elegy. A great proportion of the places of worship one sees here have no graves near them. In the vil- lages they make part of the crowd of buildings with little space — about them; nor does it follow that in the open country, where land is cheaper, the case is altered; you pass meeting-houses t | | a day’s journey before they can find a country church-yard in : | THE CHURCHYARD. 289 standing apart, with broad fields spreading on all sides, but no graves at hand. Some distance beyond, perhaps, you will come to a square enclosure, opening into the highway, and this is the cemetery of the congregation. Small family burying-grounds, about the fields, are very common; sometimes it is a retired spot, neatly enclosed, or it may be only a row of graves in one corner of the meadow, or orchard. Walking in the fields a while since, we were obliged to climb a stone wall, and on jumping down into the adjoining meadow, we found we had alighted on a grave ;. there were several others lying around near the fence, an unhewn stone at the head and foot of each humble hillock. ‘This custom of burying on the farms had its origin, no doubt, in the peculiar cir- cumstances of the early population, thinly scattered over a wide country, and separated by distance and bad roads from any place of public worship. In this way the custom of making the graves of a family upon the homestead gradually found favor among the people, and they learned to look upon it as a melancholy gratifi- cation to make the tombs of the departed members of a family near the dwelling of the living. ‘The increase of the population, and the improvement of the roads on one hand, with the changes of property, and the greater number of villages on the other, are now bringing about another state of things. Public cemeteries for parishes, or whole communities, are becoming common, while the isolated burial-places about the farms are more rare than they used to be. The few church-yards found among us are usually seen in the older parishes ; places of worship, recently built, very rarely have a yard attached to them. The narrow, crowded, abandoned church-yards, still seen in the heart of our older towns, have be- 13 290 RURAL HOURS. come, in the course of time, very striking monuments to the dead. Nowhere is the stillness of the grave so deeply impressive ; the feverish turmoil of the living, made up of pleasure, duty, labor, folly, sin, whirling in ceaseless movement about them, is less than the passing winds, and the drops of rain to the tenants of those grounds, as they lie side by side, in crowded but unconscious company. The present, so full, so fearfully absorbmg with the living, to the dead is a mystery; with those mouldering remains of man the past and the future are the great realities. The still- ness, the uselessness if you will, of the old church-yard in the heart of the bustling city, renders it a more striking and impres- sive memento mort than the skull in the cell of a hermit. We hear from time to time plans for changes which include the breaking up of those old church-yards in the towns. We are told that those old graves are unsightly objects; that a new square on the spot would be more agreeable to the neighborhood ; that a street at this particular point would be a very convenient thoroughfare, and would make A, B, or C richer men by some thousands. Such are the motives usually urged in defence of the act:—embellishment, convenience, or gain. But which of these is of sufficient force to justify the desecration of the tomb ? Assuredly necessity alone can excuse the breach of equity, of decency, of good faith, and good feeling involved in such a step. Man is the natural guardian of the grave; the remams of the dead are a solemn deposit entrusted to the honor of. the living. In the hour of death we commend our souls into the hands of our Maker; we leave our bodies to the care of our fellow-crea- tures. Just so long, therefore, as each significant mound bears a trace of its solemn character, just so long should it be held sacred THE CHURCHYARD. 291 by the living. Shall we, in a Christian land, claim to have less of justice, less of decency and natural feeling, than the rude heathen whose place on the earth we have taken; a race who carefully watched over the burial-places of their fathers with un- wavering fidelity ?. Shall we seek to rival the deed of the brutal wrecker who strips the corpse of the drowned man on the wild shore of the ocean when no honest arm is near? Shall we fol- low in the steps of the cowardly thief who prowls in the dark- ness about the field of battle to plunder the lifeless brave? Shall we cease to teach our children that of all covetousness, that which would spoil the helpless is the most revolting ? Or, in short, shall we sell the ashes of our fathers that a little more coin may jingle in our own pockets ? It matters little that a man say he should be willing his own erave should be broken up, his own bones scattered to the winds; the dead, whom he would disturb, might tell a different tale could their crumbling skeletons rise up before him, endowed once more with speech. There was a great man who, if we may believe the very solemn words on his tomb, has spoken in this instance, as in ten thousand others, the strong, natural language of the human heart: ‘¢ Good friend, for Jesus’ sake forbeare To dig the dust enclosed here ; Blest be he that spares these stones, And curst be he that moves my bones.” In this new state of society—in this utilitarian age—it behooves us, indeed, to be especially on our guard against any attack upon the tomb; the same spirit which, to-day, stands ready to break open the graves of a past generation, to-morrow, by carrying out 292 RURAL HOURS. the same principle, may deny decent burial to a brother. It may see useless expense in the shroud, waste of wood in the coffin, usurpation of soil in the narrow cell of the deceased. There is, indeed, a moral principle connected with the protection of the graye, which, if given up, must inevitably recoil upon the society by whom it has been abandoned. The character of a place of burial, the consideration or neglect it receives, the nature of the attention bestowed on it, are all in- timately connected with the state of the public mind on many important subjects. There is very little danger in this country of superstitions connected with the grave. What peril there is hes on the other side. Is there no tendency toa cold and chilling in- difference upon such subjects among our people? And yet a just consideration of Death is one of the highest lessons that every man needs to learn. Christianity, with the pure wisdom of Truth, while it shields us on one hand from abject, cowardly fear, on the other hand is ever warning us alike against brutal indif- ference, or the confidence of blind presumption. With all the calmness of Faith, with all the lowliness of Humility, with all the tenderness of Charity, and with the undying light of heavenly Hope at her heart, the Christian Church sits watching beside the graves of her children. ‘The oldest tomb belonging to the good people of this little town lies within the bounds of the Episcopal Church-yard, and bears the date of 1792. It was a child who died of the small- pox. Close at hand is another stone bearmg a date two years later, and marking the grave of the first adult who fell among the little band of colonists, a young man drowned while bathing in the lake—infancy and youth were buried before old age. At THE CHURCHYARD. 293 the time these graves were dug, the spot was in a wild condition, upon the border of the forest, the wood having been only partially cut away. In a few years other members of the little community died, one after another, at intervals, and they were also buried here, until the spot had gradually taken its present character of a burying-ground. The rubbish was cleared away, place was made for those who must follow, and ere many years had passed, the brick walls of a little church rose within the enclosure, and were con- secrated to the worship of the Almighty, by the venerable Bishop Moore, And thus this piece of ground was set apart for its solemn purposes, while shaded by the woods, and ere it had been appropriated to common uses: the soil was first broken by the spade of the grave-digger, and Death is the only reaper who has gathered his harvest here. The spot soon lost its forest character, however, for the older trees were all felled; possibly some among them may have been used as timber in building the little church. Hap- pily, at the time of clearing the ground, a few young bushes were spared from the axe, and these having been left to grow at will, during the course of half a century, have become fine flourishing trees. The greater number are pines, and a more fitting tree for a Christian church-yard than the white pine of America could searcely be named. With all the gravity and unchanging char- acter of an evergreen, they have not the dull gloom of the cypress or the yew; their growth is noble, and more than any other va- riety of their tribe, they hold murmuring communion with the mysterious winds, waving in tones of subdued melancholy over the humble graves at their feet. A few maples and elms, and a fine amelanchier, appear among them, relieving their monotonous character, Some of these have been planted for that purpose, 294. RURAL HOURS. but the pines themselves are all the spontaneous growth of the soll. Judging from their size, and what we know of their history, they must have sprung up from the seed about the time when the first colonists arrived—contemporaries of the little town whose graves they overshadow. The tombs themselves have all a natural interest for the peo- ple of the place, but there are none to attract the attention of a stranger. One of the earlier Missionaries in these parts of the country is buried here among his flock; he came into the woods a young man, passed a long life in preaching the Gospel among the different hamlets about, and died at last much respected and esteemed for his simplicity of character and faithful performance of the duties of his sacred office. One day, as he was walking through the church-yard with a brother clergyman, he pointed out a spot beneath two pines, expressing a wish to lie there, when the work of life should be over. Years after this conver- sation, he died in another parish, and was buried there; but he was nominal rector of this church at the time, and his friends were aware that he wished his body removed to this ground. Steps were accordingly taken, his remains were brought here, and laid in a grave selected by one of the vestry. A simple monu- ment of white marble was raised to his memory by the different parishes he had founded in the county. Some years later, the clergyman to whom the old Missionary had pointed out the spot where he wished to be buried, happened to preach here, and passing through the church-yard, he paused to look at the monu- ment, observing that he was pleased to find his friend had been laid in the very spot chosen by himself so long before; and it was only then the parish learned that their old rector had pointed out THE CHURCHYARD. 295 this same position for his grave, a vestryman having chosen t without bemg aware of the fact. Thus the wish of the old ser- vant of God was unconsciously fulfilled by those who were igno- rant of it. “** 'The dead in Christ, they rest in hope, And o’er their sleep sublime, The shadow of the steeple moves, From morn, to vesper chime. On every mound, in solemn shade, Its imaged cross doth lie, As goes the sunlight to the west, Or rides the moon on high.” Tuesday, 12th—Delightful walk. Many flocks of birds in movement, wheeling in the sunshine, or alighting upon the trees and fences. Saw a large hawk in full flight before a few king- birds—a common sight enough. Crows, also, when they meet the stout-hearted king-birds in the corn-fields, which they fre- quently do at this season, are sure to retreat before their spirited enemy. ven the eagle is worsted by them at times, and keeps out of their way. The butterflies were enjoying the bright, warm day. We ob- served one, a common yellow butterfly, who had been soaring very high; he came down from the top of a tall pine, growing on high ground, and made a long descent to the glen below, without pausing. Generally, these little creatures fly low. In England, they have a handsome butterfly, which they call the “ Emperor ;” he lives entirely on the tallest forest trees, and never descends to the ground, his exalted position having been the cause of his re- ceiving the title; I do not know whether we have any in this country with the same habits. 296 RURAL HOURS. The woods, generally, are green as midsummer—but a small shrub here and there is faintly touched with autumnal colors. Wednesday, 13th.—Bright and pleasant. Slight touch of frost in the clear moonlight of last night, the first we have had this autumn. It has left no traces, and seems only to have fallen in spots; even the tomato-vines in the garden are untouched. As we were standing on the wharf, we observed burr-marigolds growing in a spot usually covered with water the year round. The lake has been very low lately, but this particular spot can only have been out of water three or four weeks at the utmost, and here we have plants already grown up and in flower. They are annuals, I believe. ‘ Thursday, 14th.—Rainy, cheerless day. Short walk toward evening. Sawa couple of snail-shells, in a tuft of fern, by the road-side. How much less common are these land-snails in our part of the world than in Europe; in the Old World, you find them in the fields and gardens at every turn, but here we only see one now and then, and chiefly in the woods. Friday, 15th.—Strong wind from the south, rustling with a full, deep sough through the trees. The locusts, as their branches bend before the wind, show their pods prettily—some clusters bright yellow, others a handsome red, as they are more or less ripe. The Virginia creepers are turning cherry color; they are always the first leaves to change. Saturday, 16th.—Pleasant, soft weather. The farmers are ploughing and sowing grain, and have been doing so for some days ; they are earlier than they used to be with their autumn seed-time. The buckwheat fields are tuning red, and will soon be cut. The maize-stalks are drying and withering as the ears PUMPKIN PIES. 297 ripen ; on some farms, they are harvesting both crops—red buck- wheat sheaves, and withered corn-stalks, are standmg about the fields. All through the summer months, the maize-fields are beautiful with thew long glossy leaves; but when ripe, dry and colorless, they will not compare with the waving lawns of other grains. The golden ears, however, after the husk has been taken off, are perhaps the noblest heads of grain in the world; the rich piles now lying about the fields are a sight to rejoice the farmer’s heart. The great pumpkins, always grown with maize, are also lying ripening in the sun; as we have had no frost yet, the vines are still green. When they are harvested and gathered in heaps, the pumpkins rival the yellow corn in richness; and a farm-wagon earrying a load of husked corn and pumpkins, bears as handsome a load of produce as the country yields. It is a precious one, too, ' for the farmer and his flocks. Cattle are very fond of pumpkins ; it is pleasant to see what a feast the honest creatures make of them in the barn-yard ; they evidently consider them a great dainty, far superior to common provender. But in this part of the world, not only the cattle, but men, women, and children—we all eat pumpkins. Yesterday, the first pumpkin-pie of the season made its appearance on table. It seems rather strange, at a first glance, that in a country where apples, and plums, and peaches, and cranberries abound, the pumpkin should be held in high favor for pies. But this is a taste which may probably be traced back to the early colonists ; the first housewives of New England found no apples or quinces in the wilderness ; but pumpkins may have been raised the first sum- mer after they landed at Plymouth. At any rate, we know that 13* 298 RURAL HOURS. they were soon turned to account in this way. The old Holland- er, Van der Donck, in his account of the New Netherlands, pub- lished in 1656, mentions the pumpkin as being held in high favor in New Amsterdam, and adds, that the English colonists—mean- ung those of New England—“use it also for pastry.” This is probably the first printed allusion to the pumpkin-pie in our an- nals. Even at the present day, in new Western settlements, where the supply of fruit is necessarily small at first, pumpkins are made into preserves, and as much pains are taken in preparing them, as though they were the finest peaches from the markets of Philadelphia and Baltimore. When it is once proved that pumpkin-pies were provided for the children of the first colonists by their worthy mothers, the fact that a partiality for them con- tinued long after other good things were provided, is not at all surprising, smce the grown man will very generally be found to cherish an exalted opinion of the pies of his childhood. What bread-and-milk, what rice-puddings, can possibly equal the bread- and-milk, the rice-puddings of the school-boy ? The noble sex, especially, are much given to these tender memories of youthful dainties, and it generally happens, too, that the pie. or pudding so affectionately remembered, was home-made ; you will not often find the confectioner’s tart, bought with sixpence of pocket-money, so indelibly stamped in recollections of the past. There is at all times a peculiar sort of interest about a simple home-made meal, not felt where a cordon-bleu presides; there is a touch of anxiety in the breast of the housekeeper as to the fate of the boiled and roast, the bread and paste, preserves and other cates, which now changes to the depression of a failure, now to the triumph of bril- liant success, emotions which are of course shared, in a greater or PUMPKIN-PIES. 299 less degree, by all who partake of the viands, according to the state of the different appetites, and sensibilities. But this ghost of the school-boy pie, this spectral plum-pudding, sitting in judg- ment upon the present @eneration of pies and puddings, when it takes possession of husband, brother, or father, has often proved the despair of a housekeeper. In such a case, no pains-taking labors, no nice mixing of ingredients, no careful injunctions to cook or baker, are of any use whatever; that the pie of to-day can equal the pie of five-and-twenty years since, is a pure impossibili- ty. The pudding is tolerable, perhaps—it does pretty well—they are much obliged to you for the pains you have taken—yes, they will take a little more—another spoonful, if you please—still, if they must speak with perfect frankness, the rice-pudding, the plum tart, the apple-pie they are now eating, will no more com- pare with the puddings, and tarts, and pies eaten every day ‘in past times at their good mother’s table, than—language fails to express the breadth of the comparison! Such being man’s na- ture, apropos of pies and puddings, it follows, of course, that the pumpkin-pies eaten by the first tribe of little Yankee boys were never equalled by those made of peaches and plums in later years, and the pumpkin-pie was accordingly promoted from that period to the first place in pastry, among all good Yankees. Probably the first of the kind were simple enough; eggs, cream, brandy, rose-water, nutmegs, ginger, and cinnamon, are all used now to flavor them, but some of these ingredients must have been very precious to the early colonists, too valuable to be thrown into pies. Probably there was also another reason why the pumpkin-pie was so much in favor in New England: it had never made part 300 RURAL HOURS. of Christmas cheer: it was not in the least like the mince-pie, that abomination of their stern old fathers. We hardly know whether to laugh or to ery, when we remember the fierce attacks made upon the roasted boar’s-head, the mince-pies, and other good things of that kind, by the early Puritans; but when we recollect the reason of this enmity, we mourn over the evils that prejudice brings about in this world. Strange, indeed, that men, endowed with many Christian virtues, should have ever thought it a duty to oppose so bitterly the celebration of a festival in honor of the Nativity of Christ! Happily, Time, the great ally of Truth, has worked a change in this respect; Christmas is kept through- out the country, and mince-pies are eaten with a quiet conscience and very good appetite by everybody. And what is vastly to the credit of the community, while all have returned to the mince-pie, all are quite capable of doing justice to a good pumpkin-pie also, and by a very happy state of things, the rival pastries are found on the same tables, from Thanksgiving to Ash-Wednesday. Mince- pies are even more in favor in this country than in England ; some people eat them all the year round ; I have been offered a slice on the eve of the 4th of July. Those made by the farmers’ wives about the country are, however, very coarse imitations of the real thing ; their paste is made with lard, and always heavy ; coarsely- hashed meat, and apples, and suet, with a little spice, are the chief ingredients, and a dish more favorable to dyspepsia could not easily be put together. Monday, 18th.—A_ pair of the golden-winged woodpeckers, or clapes, as many persons call them, have been on the lawn all the afternoon. These large woodpeckers often come into the village, especially in the spring and autumn, and they are frequently seen LNOYT SHOOT PUT “ve “unuzNg Id ae oad GOOMmM CGaGgyan—- Gawd oo WOODPECKERS. 301 on the ground, running their bills into the grass in quest of ants and their eggs, which are favorite food with them. ‘They are handsome birds, differing in some respects from the other wood- peckers, and peculiar to North America, although two kindred varieties of golden-winged woodpeckers are found about the Cape, of Good Hope. But they have no bird in Europe at all like ours. Besides the clape, we frequently see the downy woodpecker, and the hairy woodpecker, in the village; the first is the smallest of its tribe in America, and the second, which is a little larger, differs from it chiefly in the red band on its head. Both these birds make holes innumerable in the trunks of many trees, not only for insects, but for the sake of the sap also, which they drink ; they are called sap-suckers by the country people, on that account. Frequently one sees a tree completely riddled, by a succession of these holes, which go round the trunk in regular rings, many of the circles lying close together ; Mr. Wilson says that they are often so near together, that one may cover eight or ten of these holes with a silver dollar. Both these smaller wood- peckers are often seen on the rails of fences hunting for insects ; and both remain here through the winter. The handsome red-head, one of the migratory woodpeckers, is much more rare in our neighborhood than it used to be, but it is still found here, and we have seen them in the village. They are naturally sociable birds. A hundred miles to the westward, they are very numerous, even at the present day. The large pileated woodpecker, or log-cock, a resident in Pennsylvania through the winter, is said to have been occasion- ee mh 802 RURAL HOURS. ally seen here of late years; but we have never observed it ourselves. It is quite a forest bird. Besides these, there are the red-bellied, and the yellow-bellied, coming from the south, and rarely seen in this part of the State. The arctic and the banded woodpeckers, coming from the north, are occasional visitors, but we have never met them. Tuesday, 19th.—Mild, soft weather lately ; to-day, high gust, with rain. Those leaves that had at all loosened their hold, locusts and Virginia creepers, are flymg before the wind. The apples, blown off, are lymg under the trees, scattered in showers over the green grass. Saw a flock of wild pigeons ; they have not been very numer- ous in our neighborhood lately, but every year we have a few of them. These birds will goa great distance for food, and their flight is astonishingly rapid. A pigeon of this kind is said to have been killed in New York during the rice season, with undigested Caro- lina rice in its crop; and as they require but twelve hours for di- zestion, it is supposed that the bird was only a few hours on his journey, breakfasting on the Santee, and dining on the Hudson. At this rate, it has been calculated that our passenger-pigeon might go to Europe in three days ; indeed, a straggler is said to have been actually shot in Scotland. So that, whatever disputes may arise as to the rival merits of Columbus and the Northmen, it is very probable that American pigeons had discovered Europe long before the Europeans discovered them. Thursday, 21st—Equinox. Warm; showeryas April. Sun- shine, showers, and rainbows succeeding each other through the day. Beautiful effect of light on the hills; a whole mountain- 303 MUSHROOMS. side on the lake shore bathed in the tints of the rainbow, the col- ors lying with unusual breadth on its wooded breast. Even the ethereal green of the bow was clearly seen above the darker ver- dure of the trees. Only the lower part of the bow, that which lay upon the mountain, was colored ; above, the clouds were just tinged where they touched the brow of the hill, then fading away into pale gray. Tce at table still, We Americans probably use far more ice than most people; the water for drmking is regularly iced, in many houses, until late in the autumn, when the frost cools the springs for us out of doors. Friday, 22¢d.—Mushrooms are springing up by the road-side and in pasture-grounds ; they are not so numerous as last year, however, when the fungus tribe abounded. Mushrooms are not much eaten in our country neighborhood; people are afraid of them, and perhaps they are right. Certainly, they should never be eaten unless gathered by a person who understands them thor- oughly. In France, they are not allowed to be offered for sale, I believe, until inspected by an officer appointed for the purpose. There is a good old Irish mother who supplies one or two houses in the village when they are in season, and she understands them very well. The Indians of this part of the continent ate mushrooms. Poor creatures, they were often reduced to great extremities for food, from their want of forethought, feeding upon lichens, tripe de roche, and everything edible which grew in the forest. “But mushrooms seem to have been considered by them as a great delicacy. A Chippewa, when speaking with Major Long on the subject of a future life, gave the following account of the opinions 304 RURAL HOURS. prevailing among his people: ‘In this land of souls, all are treat- ed according to their merits.” “The wicked are haunted by the phantoms of the persons or things they have injured ; thus, if a man has destroyed much property, the phantoms of the wrecks of this property obstruct his passage wherever he goes; if he has been cruel to his dogs, they also torment him after death ; the ghosts of those whom during his lifetime he has wronged, are there per- mitted to avenge their wrongs.” ‘Those who have been good men are free from pain; they have no duties to perform ; their time is spent in dancing and singing, and they feed upon mush- rooms, which are very abundant.” Thus, mushrooms appear to be the choice food of the Chippewa heroes in the happy hunting- erounds. Saturday, 23d.— Lovely evening ; soft and mild, windows open; the sun throwing long shadows on the bright grass of the lawn. But for a light touch of autumn here and there, we might have believed ourselves at midsummer. The last melons were eaten to-day. The grapes are ripening ; many years we lose them by frost, either in the spring, or early in the autumn. Cold injures them less, however, at this season than im spring. A large flock of black and white creepers running about the apple-trees, up and down, and around the trunk and branches ; they are pretty, amusing little creatures, like all birds of that habit. Monday, 25th—Showery again. The woods are still green, but some trees in the village are beginning to look autumn-like. And yet we have had no frost of any consequence. Though an active agent in effecting the beautiful autumnal changes in the fo- AUTUMNUL TOUCHES. 305 liage, frost does not seem indispensable ; one finds that the leaves turn at a certain time, whether we have had frost or not. The single trees, or groves, and the borders of a wood, seem to be touched first, while the forest generally still preserves its ver- dure. The Virginia creepers, whether. trained upon our walls, hanging about the trees in the woods, or tangling the thickets on the banks of the river, are always the first to show their light, vivid crimson, among the green of the other foliage. A maple here and there generally keeps them company, in scarlet and yel- low. The pines are thickly hung with dark-brown cones, drooping from their higher branches. This is also the moment when their old leaves fall, and there is more yellow among their foliage this autumn than usual, probably owing to the dry weather we have had. Near at hand, these rusty leaves impair their beauty, but at a little distance, they are not observed. The hemlocks effect the change in their foliage imperceptibly, at least they seldom at- tract attention by it; nor do their fallen leaves le in rusty, bar- ren patches on the earth, beneath the trees, like those of the pine. Saw a pretty sight: a party of robins alighted on the topmost boughs of a group of young locusts near the house, and sipped up the rain-drops gathered on the leaves; it was pretty to see them drinking the delicate drops, one after another. Smaller birds jomed them—sparrows, probably, and drank also. Birds often drink in this way, but one seldom sees a whole flock sipping at the same time. It is said that the fine pinnated grouse, now becoming a very rare bird in this State, drinks only in this way, refusing water from a vessel, or a spring, but eagerly drinking when it trickles down in drops. 306 RURAL HOURS. Tuesday, 26th.—A fine bunch of woodcock, with several par- tridges, and a brace of wood-ducks, brought to the house. The woodcock is less common here than the partridge, or the ruffed grouse rather, as we should call it ; but all our game-birds are rapid- ly diminishmg in numbers. By the laws of the State every county is enabled to protect its own property of this kind, by including any wild animal, or bird, or fish within the list of those which can only be destroyed at certain seasons; the county courts deciding the question in each case. Hitherto more attention has been paid to the preservation of game on Long Island than in any other part of this State ; and although so near New York, although the laws are very imperfectly administered im these, as in some other respects, yet the efforts of the Long Islanders have succeeded in a degree at least. The deer, for mstance, are said to be actu- ally increasing there, and until lately they have preserved more game-birds than m most other counties ; they still have, or had quite lately, a few of the fine pinnated grouse. In this county very little attention has been paid to this subject, and probably everything of the kind will soon disappear from our woods. The reckless extermination of the game in the United States would seem, indeed, without a precedent in the history of the world. Probably the buffaloes will be entirely swept from prairies, once covered with their herds, by this generation.* The wood-ducks brought in this morning were both drakes, but young, and consequently they had not acquired their beauti- ful plumage. We had one for dinner; it was very delicate; a * In West Chester County, they have recently had the good sense to extend the protection of the game laws to many birds of the smaller kinds, useful to the gardener and farmer, suchas the robins, which destroy many troublesome insects THE WOOD-DUCK. 307 eanvas-back could scarcely have been more so. These ducks are summer visitors to our lake. Unlike others of their family, they build nests in trees. They are said to be one of the two most beautiful species in the world, the other bemg the Mandarin Duck of China. Ours are chiefly confined to the fresh waters of the interior, bemg seldom found on the sea-shore. They are said frequently to build in the same tree for several seasons. Mr. Wilson gives a pleasing account of a nest he had seen on the banks of the Tuckahoe River, New Jersey :—“<'The tree was an old grotesque white oak, whose top had been torn off by a storm. In this hollow and broken top, and about six feet down, on the soft, decayed wood, lay thirteen eggs, snugly covered with down, doubtless taken from the breast of the bird. The eggs were of the highest polish, fine in the grain, greatly resembling old pol- ished ivory. This tree had been occupied, probably by the same pair, for four successive years in breeding-time; the person who gave me the information, and whose house was within twenty or thirty yards of the tree, said that he had seen the female, the spring preceding, carry down thirteen young, one by one, in less than ten minutes. She caught them in her bill by the wing, or the back of the neck, and landed them safely at the foot of the tree, when she afterward led them to the water. Under this same tree, at the time I visited it, a large sloop lay on the stocks, nearly finished ; the deck was not more than twelve feet distant from the nest, yet notwithstanding the presence and the noise of the workmen, the ducks would not abandon their old breeding- place, but continued to pass out and in, as if no person had been near. ‘The male usually perched on an adjoining limb, and kept watch while the female was laying, and also often while she was 308 RURAL HOURS. sitting. A tame goose had chosen a hollow space at the root of the same tree, to lay and hatch her young in.” The feathers of these beautiful birds are said to be frequently used by the Indians to ornament their calumet, or Pipe of Peace ; the head and neck of the wood-duck are frequently seen covering the stem of the pipe. Owing to the richness of its plumage, Linnzeus gave this bird the name of the Bridal Duck, Anas Sponsa, and it is smgular that the bird which approaches nearest to ours, the Mandarin Duck of China, figures regularly in the marriage procession of the Chinese ; not, however, from its beauty, but as an emblem of conjugal fidelity, for which good quality they are remarkable. A story is told of a female in the aviary of a European gentleman at Macao, who all but starved herself to death when her husband was car- ried off, and would probably have died had he not been found and restored to her. The joy of both at meeting was extreme, and the husband celebrated his return by putting to death a rival drake who had been trying, but in vain, to console his mourning partner. We have never heard whether our own birds are re- markable for the same good quality or not, but their returning to the same nest for years, looks, at least, as if they mated for life. Wednesday, 27th.—Decided white frost last night. The trees show it perceptibly in a heightened tint of coloring, rismg here and there; some single maples in the village streets are vividly crimson. But the general tint is still green. Many birds flymg about mm parties. Some of the goldfinches still wear their summer colors, yellow and black. Walking in the lane, we came upon a large mixed flock, feeding on the thistles and silkweed of an adjoming field which is overrun with ce A af _ these weeds. There were goldfinches, blue-birds, sparrows, robins ; and perched in a tree, at no great distance, were several meadow-larks apparently attracted by the crowd, for they sat | quietly looking on. Altogether there must have been several hundreds in the flock, for there were frequently six or eight hanging upon one thistle-stalk. Some were feeding busily ; others were flitting about, now on the fences, now in the road. It was a gay, pretty sight. We disturbed them, of course, passing in their midst; but they did not seem much alarmed. Taking flight, as we came close upon them, they alighted again on the | rails and weeds, a few yards beyond, repeating over and over | the same movement as we walked slowly on, until more than half the flock had actually accompanied us in this way a good piece of road, called near a quarter of a mile. They seemed half convinced that we meant no Thera to them. As we reached the end of the lane and turned into the highway, some went back | to their feast; others, as it was near sunset, flew away in parties. The numbers of these autumn flocks vary very much with the seasons ; some years they are much more numerous than others. After a cold, late spring, we have comparatively few. Many birds at such times, probably, stop short on their spring journey, remaining farther south; and others, alas! are destroyed by a | severe untimely frost. Not long since, early in the season, a large party of blue-birds arrived in the village. We watched them with much interest; their brilliant plumage of silvery blue show- ing beautifully as they flitted about in the sunshine; and added to their gentle, harmless character and pleasant note, this makes them very desirable birds to have about a house and on a lawn. We | observed no less than three pairs building under the eaves, at the 310 RURAL HOURS. time referred to, passing up and down before the windows twenty times a day, and several others were gomg in and out of holes and chinks of the trees in sight. One night there came a hard frost, followed by a fall of snow ; the next day six of these pretty blue-birds were picked up dead in one cluster in our own garden, and several others were said to be lying about the grounds. They seemed to have collected together to warm themselves. That summer we saw very few blue-birds, and the following autumn there was scarcely a large flock of them seen in the neighbor- hood. Fine sunset; the evening still and quiet. The lake beautiful in its reflections of the sky. Soft barred clouds were floating above the hills, and the color of each lay faithfully repeated on the water ;—pink, violet, gray, and blue in successive fields. Thursday, 28th.—In our walk, this afternoon, observed a broad field upon a hill-side covered with the white silvery heads of the everlastings. The country people sometimes call these plants “moonshine,” and really the effect in the evening upon so broad a field reminded one of moonlight. These flowers deserve the name of “everlasting ;” some of them begin to bloom early in the spring, and they continue in blossom until the latest days of autumn. ‘They are extremely common here; one of our char- acteristic plants. A noisy flock of blue-jays collected in the wood behind us as we were standing on Mount They were hunting for nuts, and chattering like monkeys. Their cry is anything but musical, but they are certainly very handsome birds. There is another sometimes seen in this State; it is kind of jay—the Canada jay not so fine a bird as the common sort. These birds are said to $3, of W™ Endecoté & C°. Lith. MN “ LANE; Li 2 hee G ~ en) Hi! SBP et: Sap ell ’ THE COUNTY FAIR. 311 eat all sorts of things; just now they are frequently mischievous in the maize-fields. They are good mimics, when trained, and a little given to thieving, like the magpie. We do not quarrel with them, however, for they are one of the few birds that pass the winter in our woods: at least, some of their flocks remain here, though others probably go off toward the coast. Friday, 29th.—Great change in the weather. Chilly, pinching day. The county fair of the Agricultural Society is now going on in the village, which is thronged with wagons and chilly- looking people. Three or four thousand persons, men, women, and children, sometimes attend these fairs ; to-day the village is thought more crowded than it has been any time this year; neither the circus, nor menagerie, nor election, has collected so many people as the Fair. The cattle-show is said to be respectable ; the ploughing match and speech were also pronounced creditable to the occasion. Within doors there is the usual exhibition of farm produce and manufactures. The first department consists of butter, cheese, maple sugar, honey, a noble pumpkin, about five feet m circum- ference ; some very fine potatoes, of the Carter and pink-eye va- rieties, looking as though there were no potato-disease in the world; some carrots and turnips also. Apples were the only fruit exhihited. Some of the butter and cheese was pronounced very good; and both the maple sugar and honey were excellent. Altogether, however, this part of the show was meagre ; assuredly we might do much more than has yet been done in this county, with our vegetables and fruits, And a little more attention to the arrangement of the few objects of this kind exhibited at the Fair, is desirable; people take great pains in arranging a room for a RURAL HOURS. ied) bo public ball or dimner ; but an exhibition of this kind is of far more real interest and importance than any meeting for mere amuse- ment. These agricultural fairs are among the most pleasing as well as most important gathermgs we country people know of. The cattle and the domestic manufactures form much the most important features in our fairs. The stock of this county is not thought remarkable, I believe, either one way or the other; but some prizes from the State Society have been distributed among us. Our domestic manufactures, however, are really very inter- esting, and highly creditable to the housewives of the county. Some of the flannels and carpeting are of excellent quality. lution, having belonged to the “Jersey line ;” and it was with some latent pride that he would relate how he had, more than once, stood sentinel before the tent of General Washington, and bf seen “His Excellency” go in and out. His recollection of the battle of Long Island, and the celebrated retreat across the East River, was particularly good ; his old cheek would flush, and his mild eye grow brighter, as he told the incidents of that day and night; while the listener must needs smile to see the young soldier thus getting the better of the peaceful old solitary. His activity was unusual for such advanced years: a great walker, he never used horse or wagon if he could help it; and at the age of eighty-two he walked forty miles in one day, to visit a friend in the next county. He ate only the simplest food, and never drank anything but water, or a bowl of milk now and then; and this temperance, added to regular exercise and light labor in the fields, with a mind at peace, were no doubt the cause of the good health and activity he enjoyed so late in life. This excellent man was a striking example of what the Holy Scriptures alone may do for the honest, simple heart, who endeavors faithfully to carry out the two great commandments—loving our Maker with all the heart, and doing unto others as we would have others do to us. 3924 RURAL HOURS. Full of simple piety and benevolence, temperate, frugal, and indus- trious, single-minded, and upright m word and deed, his conduct in all these respects was such as to command the respect and veneration of those who knew him. It was like a blessing to meet so good a man in one’s daily walks. Such an instance of honor- able integrity and simple piety was a strong encouragement to perseverance in duty, among the many examples of, a very oppo- site character examples of weakness, folly, and sm, which hourly crossed one’s path. Not long since, during the cold weather in winter, the village heard with regret that their venerable old neighbor had fallen on the ice, and broken a leg; from that time he has been compelled to give up his field labors, having become quite infirm. Bowed down with age and debility, his mind often wanders; but on the subject nearest his heart, he is still himself. He may be seen occasionally, of a pleasant day, sitting alone in the lane near his daughter’s door, scarcely heeding what passes before him ; his eyes closed, his hands clasped, and his lips moying in prayer. If one stops to offer him a respectful greeting, he shakes his head, acknowledging that memory fails him, but he still bestows a bless- ing with his feeble voice and dim eye—‘‘ God bless you, my friend, whoever you be!” The little patch of ground enclosed by logs, just within the edge of the wood, and the frequent turning-point in our walks, was the good man’s clearing. It now lies waste and deserted. A solitary sweet-briar has sprung up lately by the road-side, be- fore the rude fence. This delightful shrub is well known to be a stranger in the forest, never appearing until the soil has been broken by the plough; and it seems to have sprung up just here nn AUTUMN. 325 expressly to mark the good man’s tillage. ‘Tall mullein-stalks, thistles, and weeds fill the place where the old husbandman gath- ered his little crop of maize and potatoes; every season the traces of tillage become more and more faint in the little field; a portion of the log fence has fallen, and this summer the fern has gained rapidly upon the mulleins and thistles. The silent spirit of the woods seems creeping over the spot again. Wednesday, 11th.— Autumn would appear to have received gen- erally a dull character from the poets of the Old World ; probably if one could gather all the passages relating to the season, scat- tered among the pages of these writers, a very large proportion would be found of a grave nature. English verse is full of sad images applied to the season, and often more particularly to the foliage. “ The chilling. autumn, angry winter,” are linked together by Shakspeare. * The sallow autumn fills thy laps with leaves,” writes Collins. **O pensive autumn, how I grieve Thy. sorrowing face to see, When languid suns are taking leave Of every drooping treé !” says Shenstone. °° Ye trees that fade when autumn heats remove,”’ says Pope. «* Autumn, melancholy wight !” exclaims Wordsworth. And hundreds of similar lines might be — ————— a rane = —————— 326 RURAL HOURS. given; for very many of the English poets seem to have felt a November chill at their fingers’ ends when alluding to the subject. The writers of France tell much the same tale of Autumn, across the Channel. ‘* Plus pale, que la pale automne,” says Millevoye, in his touching lament. “la pale Automne D’une main languissante, effeuillant sa couronne,” &) writes Delille ; and again, ** Dirai-je a quels désastres, De lAutomne orageux nous exposent les astres ?” And again, ** Voyez comment lAutomne nébuleux Tous les ans, pour gémir, nous ameéne en ces lieux.”’ St. Lambert tells us of fogs and mists, in his sing-song verses, his “ormeaux, et rameaux, et hameaux.” “* Ces voiles suspendus qui cachent a la terre Le ciel qui la couronne, et Vastre qui l’éclaire Préparent les mortels au retour des frimas. Mais la feuille en tombant, du pampre dépouillé Decouvre le raisin, de rubis émaillé.” Observe that he was the especial poet of the seasons, and bound to fidelity in their behalf; and yet, painting Autumn during the vintage, he already covers the sky with clouds, and talks of “frimas.”” AUTUMN. 327 s¢ Salut, bois couronnés d’en reste de verdure Feuillage, jaunissant sur les gazons épars,”’ writes M. de Lamartine, in his beautiful’ but plaintive verses to the season. In Germany we shall find much the same tone prevailing. “*Tn des Herbstes welkem Kranze,”’ says Schiller; and again, ‘¢ Wenn der Friihlings Kinder sterben, Wenn vom Norde’s kaltem Hauch Blatt und Blume sich entfarben—’’ As for the noble poets of Italy, summer makes up half their year ; the character of autumn is less decided; she is scarcely remembered until the last days of her reign, and then she would hardly be included among “i mesi gai.” In short, while gay imagery has been lavished upon Spring and Summer, Autumn has more frequently received a sort of feuclle morte drapery, by way of contrast. Among the older poets, by which are meant all who wrote previously to the last hundred years, these grave touches, in connection with autumn, are particularly common; and instances of an opposite character are compara- tively seldom met with. There were exceptions, however. Such glowing poets as Spenser and Thomson threw a warmer tint into their pictures of the season. But, strange to say, while paying her this compli- ment, they became untrue to nature—they robbed Summer to deck Autumn in her spoils. They both—British poets, as they were—put off the grain-harvest until September, when in truth the wheat-sheaf belongs especially to August, in England; that month = = —— = a 828 RURAL HOURS. is given up to its labors, and it is only the very last sheaves which are gathered in September. Yet hear what Spenser says : ** Then came the Automne, all in yellow clad, As though she joyed in her plenteous store, Laden with fruit that made her laugh full glad ; Upon her head a wreath, which was enrolde With eares of corne of every sort, she bore, And in her hand a sickle she did holde, To reap the ripened fruits the earth did yolde.” The cars of.corn, and the sickle, were certainly the rightful property of Summer, who had already been spending weeks in the harvest-field. Thomson first mtroduces the season in very much the same livery as Spenser, as we may all remember : **Crown’d with the sickle, and the wheaten sheaf, While Autumn, nodding o’er the yellow plain, Comes jovial on ; broad and brown, below, Extensive harvests hang the heavy head :—”’ In classic days Spring was seen crowned with flowers ; Summer with grain; Autumn with fruits; and Winter with reeds. All the four seasons, the Anni of Roman mythology, took a mascu- line form. ‘Traces of this may be found in the gender given to the different seasons, grammatically speaking, in the principal modern tongues of Europe, for they are chiefly masculine. In Italian, spring, la primavera, is feminine ; Vestate, Vautumno, Vin- verno, are masculine ; in verse, 2d verno is occasionally used for winter; and the gender of summer is sometimes changed to a feminine substantive, da state. In German, der Friihling, der Sommer, der Winter, der Herbst, are all masculine, and so is the wa AUTUMN. 7 329 more poetical word, der Lenz, for spring; but the Germans, as we all know, have peculiar notions on the subject of gen- der, for they have made the sun feminine, and the moon masculine. ‘The Spaniards have adopted the same words as the Italians, with the same genders—la primavera, el verano or el estio, el otono, el inveerno, spring alone being feminine. In French, we have them all masculine, strictly speaking, le prin- temps, Pete, Vautomne, Vhiver ; but by one of the very few licenses permitted in French grammar, autumn occasionally becomes femi- nine, ina sense half poctical, half euphonical. Strictly speaking, we are taught that, with an adjective preceding it, autumn, in French, is always masculine. ** Ou quand sur les céteaux le vigoureux Automne Etalait ses raisins dont Bacchus se couronne 3” while with the adjective coming after, it is feminine: “une automne délicieuse,” says Madame de Sevigné. But this rule is often neglected in verse, by the same writers who are quoted as authority for it, as we have seen in “la pale automne”’ of Delile ; the feeling and tact of the individual seem to decide the question ; and this is one of the very few instances in which such liberty is allowed tothe French poet. As might be supposed, the variation becomes a grace; and probably if something more of the same freedom were generally diffused through the language, the poetry of France would have more of that life and spirit which is now chiefly confined to her greater writers in verse. In that case, we should have had more than one Lafontaine to delight us. In English, thanks to our neuter gender, poets are allowed to do as they choose in this matter ; and in many cases they have chosen to represent all three of the earlier seasons in a feminine form— 330 RURAL HOURS. not only spring and summer, but autumn also—as we have just seen in the case of Spenser. Thomson, however, has made Sum- mer a youth, a sort of Apollo: ** Child of the Sun, refulgent Summer comes He comes attended by the sultry hours, And ever fanning breezes on his way.” And his autumn also, “crowned with the sickle and the wheaten sheaf,” scarcely looks like a female. In climates still warmer than those of Greece and Rome, the ears of grain might correctly have been woven into the wreath of May. Ruth must have gleaned the fields of Boaz during the month of May, or some time between the Passover and Pentecost— festivals represented by our Easter and Whitsunday—for that was the harvest-time of Judea. Many of the poets of our mother-speech have, however, fol- lowed the examples of Spenser and Thomson, in representing autumn as the season of the grain-harvest in England. Among others, Keats, who also gives a glowing picture of the season, in those verses, full of poetical images, beginning— ‘¢ Season of mists, and mellow fruitfulness ! . Close bosom friend of the maturing sun.” He then asks, ‘“‘ Who has not often seen thee $e . sitting careless on a granary floor, Thy hair soft-lifted by the winnowing wind ; Or on a half-reaped furrow lain asleep, Drows’d with the fume of poppies ; while thy hook Spares the next swathe, and all its twined flowers!’ But while such poets as Spenser and Thomson give a warmer AUTUMN. 331 picture of the season than many of their contemporaries, on an- other point, at which we are looking just now, they do not differ from others—neither of them sees any beauty in the foliage of the season. It is true, Thomson speaks, in one line, of «* Autumn beaming o’er the yellow woods,” but this seems an accidental epithet, for it does not occur in the descriptive part of the season. When he is expressly engaged in painting autumn for us, he tells us of the “tawny copse.” An- other passage of his commences in a way which at first leads one to expect some praise of the autumn foliage, for he speaks of the “many-colored woods.” ‘To an American, this immediately sug- gests the idea of scarlet and golden tints; but he proceeds in a very different tone—his “many-colored woods” are all sad. ‘«¢ Shade deep’ning over shade, the country round Imbrown: a clouded umbrage, dusk and dun, Of ev’ry hue, from wan declining green To sooty dark.” Sober enough, in good sooth. And then he strips the trees amid gloomy fogs and mists: ‘© And o’er the sky the leafy deluge streams ; Till chok’d and matted with the dreary shower, The forest walks at ev’ry rising gale Roll wide the wither’d waste.” It would require a general and accurate knowledge of English verse, and a very correct memory, to say positively that no allu- sion to the beauty of the autumnal woods may be found in the older poets of England; but certainly, if such are to be met with, they do not lie within the range of every-day readmg. Are there 332 . RURAL HOURS. any such in Milton, skillful as he was in picturing the groves and bowers of Eden ? ‘¢ Thick as autumnal leaves that strew the brooks In Vallambrosa,”’ will occur to the memory; but we have no coloring here. Is there a single line of this nature in Shakspeare, among the innu- merable comparisons in which his fancy luxuriated ? Shall we find one in the glowing pages of Spenser? In Dryden? In Chaucer, so minute in description, and delighting so heartily m nature— from the humble daisy to the great oaks, with “their leaves newe?” One is almost confident that in these, and every other instance, the answer will prove a negative. Much the boldest touch of the kind, remembered at present, in European verse, is found in a great French rural writer, Delille ; speaking of the woods in Autumn, he says: *¢ Le pourpre, Vorangé, V’opale, l’incarnat, De leurs rickes couleurs étalent ’abondance.” But these lines stand almost alone, differing entirely from other descriptions of the season by himself and many of his country- men, with whom it has very generally been “la pale automme.” Probably in these lines Delille had some particular season in view. European autumn is not always dull; she has her bright days, and at times a degree of beauty in her foliage. From the more northern countries, as far south of Italy, one may occasion- ally see something of this kind, reminding one of the season in America. More than a hundred years since, Addison alluded briefly, in his travels, to the beauty of the autumnal woods in Southern Germany, where, indeed, the foliage is said to be finer AUTUMN. 333 than in any other part of Europe ; but nowhere, I believe, has he given the colored leaves a place in verse. Delille, it must be remembered, was a more modern poet, writing at the close of the last and the commencement of the present century ; and just about that time allusions of this kind were finding their way into the literature of Europe. A very decided change in this respect has indeed taken place within the last fifty or sixty years. English writers, particularly, seem suddenly to have discovered Autumn under a new charac- ter; two very different pictures are now given of her ; one is still {?? « Autumn, melancholy wight!” while the other bears a much gayer expression. Just now allusions to beautiful “autumnal tints” have become very much the fashion in English books of all sorts ; and one might think the leaves had been dyed, for the first time, to please the present generation. In reality, there can hardly have been any change in this respect since the days of Chaucer ; whence, then, comes this altered tone ? Some foundation for the change may doubtless be found in the fact, that all descriptive writing, on natural objects, is now much less vague and general than it was formerly ; it has become very much more definite and accurate within the last half century. Some persons have attributed this change, so far as it regards England, to the taste for landscape painting, which has been so generally cultivated in that country durmg the same period Probably this has had its effect. The partiality for a more natural style in gardening may also have done something toward bringing the public mind round to a natural taste on all rural subjects. It is seldom, however, that a great change in public taste or opinion is produced by a single direct cause only ; there are generally many 334 RURAL HOURS. lesser collateral causes working together, aiding and strengthening each other meanwhile, ere decided results are produced. This is perceptible in small matters, as well as in matters of importance. Something more than a mere partiality for landscape painting has been at work; people had grown tired of mere vapid, conventional repetitions, they felt the want of something more positive, more real; the head called for more of truth, the heart for more of life. And so, writers began to look out of the window more frequently ; when writing a pastoral they turned away from the little porcelain shepherds and shepherdesses, standing in high-heeled shoes and powdered wigs upon every mantel-piece, and they fixed their eyes upon the real living Roger and Dolly in the hay-field. Then they came to see that it would do just as well, nay, far better, to seat Roger and Dolly under a hawthorn, or an oak of merry England, than to paint them beneath a laurel, or an ilex of Greece or Rome ; in short, they learned at length to look at nature by the light of the sun, and not by the glimmerings of the poet’s lamp. And a great step this wes, not only in art, but in moral and intellectual prog- ress.* One of the first among the later English poets, who led * Nore.—This onward course in truthful description should not stop short at inanimate nature. There is a still further progress which remains to be effect- ed ; the same care, the same attention, the same scruples should, most assuredly, be shown by the conscientious mind, in writing of our fellow-creatures. If we seek to give a correct picture of a landscape, a tree, a building, how much more anxious should we be never willingly to give a distorted or perverted view of any fellow-man, or class of men ; of any fact bearing upon the welfare of our fellow- creatures, or of any class of facts with the same bearing! We claim, in this age, to be more especially in quest of truths—how, then, shall we ever find them, if we are all busy in throwing obstacles in each other’s way? Even in fiction, nay, in satire, in caricature, there are just proportions which it is criminal wholly to pervert. In such cases, political writers are often avowedly without shame 3 and, alas! how often do Christian writers conform, in this way, to the world about them! Perhaps there is no other commandment of Holy Scripture more boldly AUTUMN. 335 the way back into the track of truth, was the simple, kindly, up- right Cowper; and assuredly it was a task worthy of a Christian poet—that of endeavoring to paint the works of the Creation in their native dignity, rather than tricked out in conventional devices of man. Still, all this might have taken place without producing that especial attention to autumn, perceptible in later English writers ; that very frequent mention of its softer days and varied foliage, which marks a change of feeling from the “chilling autumn” of Shakspeare, and the foliage “dusk and dun” of Thomson. One is led to believe that the American autumn has helped to set the fashion for the sister season of the Old World; that the attention which the season commands in this country, has opened the eyes of Europeans to any similar graces of the same months in their own climates; the gloom is less heeded by them, while every pleasing touch is noted with gratification. In the same way, we now see frequent allusions to the “ Indian summer” by Englishmen, in their own island, where this last sweet smile of the declining year was entirely unheeded until its very marked character in this country had attracted admiration. Our native writers, as soon as we had writers of our own, pointed out very early both the sweet- ness of the Indian summer, and the magnificence of the autumnal changes. In fact, they must have been dull and blind not to have marked both these features of the season, as we usually trampled on, in spirit at least, at the present day, than the ninth, ‘‘ Thou shalt not bear false witness against thy neighbor.” It is to be feared that the present age is more especially a slanderous one ; slanderous not only upon individuals, but upon classes. Where shall we find the political party, the school of phi- losophy, the religious sect or party, wholly pure from this poison? These are among the facts which teach our race a lesson of perpetual humility. 33€ RURAL HOURS. enjoy them. And here, indeed, we find the precise extent of the difference between the relative beauty of autumn in Europe and in America: with us it is quite impossible to overlook these pecu- liar charms of the autumnal months ; while in Europe, though not wholly wanting, they remained unnoticed, unobserved, for ages. Had the same soft atmosphere of the “Indian summer” warmed the woods of Windsor, year after year, while Geoffrey Chaucer roamed among their glades, the English would have had a word or a phrase to express the charm of such days, before they bor- rowed one from another continent. Had the maples, and oaks, and ashes, on the banks of the Avon, colored the waters of that stream, year after year, with their own scarlet, and crimson, and purple, while Will. Shakspeare, the bailiff’s son, was shooting his arrows on its banks, we should have found many a rich and ex- quisite image connected with autumnal hours hovering about the footsteps of Lear and Hamlet, Miranda and Imogen, and Rosa- lind. Had the woods of England been as rich as our own, their branches would have been interwoven among the masques of Ben Jonson and Milton; they would have had a place in more than one of Spenser’s beautiful pictures. All these are wanting now. Perhaps the void may be in a measure filled up for us by great poets of our own; but even then one charm will fail—the mellow light of eld, which illumines the page of the old poet, will be missed ; for that, like the rich flavor of old wine, is the gift of Time alone. In the meanwhile, however, the march of Autumn through the land is not a silent one—it is already accompanied by song. Scarce a poet of any fame among us who has not at least some graceful verse, some glowing image connected with the season ; \ je AUTUMN. 337 and year after year the song must become fuller, and sweeter, and clearer. In those parts of this contment which answer to the medium climates of Europe, and where Autumn has a decided character of her own, the season is indeed a noble one. Rich in bounty, ripening the blended fruits of two hemispheres, beauty is also her inalienable dower. Clear skies and cheerful breezes are more frequent throughout her course than storms or clouds. Foes are rare indeed. Mild, balmy airs seem to delight in attending her steps, while the soft haze of the Indian summer is gathered like a choice veil about her brows, throwing a charm of its own over every feature. The grain-harvest has been given to Summer ; of all its treasures, she preserves alone the fragrant buckwheat and the golden maize. The nobler fruits are all hers—the finer peaches and plums, the cheicest apples, pears, and grapes. The homely, but precious root-harvest belongs to her—winter stores for man and his herds. And now, when the year is drawing to a close, when the blessings of the earth have been gathered and stored, when every tree and plant has borne its fruits, when every field has yielded its produce, why should the sun shine brightly now? What has he more to ripen for us at this late day ? At this very period, when the annual labors of the husbandman are drawing to a close, when the first light frosts ripen the wild grapes in the woods, and open the husks of the hickory-nuts, bringing the latest fruits of the year to maturity, these are the days when, here and there, in the groves you will find a maple-tree whose leaves are touched with the gayest colors; those are the heralds which announce the approach of a brilliant pageant—the moment chosen by Autumn to keep the great harvest-home of 1d 338 RURAL HOURS. America is at hand. In a few days comes another and a sharper frost, and the whole face of the country is changed; we enjoy, with wonder and delight, a natural spectacle, great and beautiful, beyond the reach of any human means. We are naturally accustomed to associate the idea of verdure with foliage—leaves should surely be green! But now we gaze in wonder as we behold colors so brilliant and so varied hung upon every tree. Tints that you have admired among the darker tulips and roses, the richer lilies and dahlias of the flower-garden—colors that have pleased your eye among the fine silks and wools of a lady’s delicate embroidery—dyes that the shopman shows off with complacency among his Cashmeres and velvets—hues reserved by the artist for his proudest works—these we now see fluttering in the leaves of old oaks, and tupeloes, liquid ambers, chestnuts, and maples ! We behold the green woods becoming one mass of rich and varied coloring. It would seem as though Autumn, in honor of this high holiday, had collected together all the past glories of the year, adding them to her own; she borrows the gay colors that have been lying during the summer months among the flow- ers, in the fruits, upon the plumage of the bird, on the wings of the butterfly, and working them together in broad and glowing masses, she throws them over the forest to grace her triumph. Like some great festival of an Italian city, where the people bring rich tapestries and hang them in their streets; where they unlock chests of heir-looms, and bring to light brilliant draperies, which they suspend from their windows and balconies, to gleam in the sunshine. The hanging woods of a mountainous country are especially a AUTUMN. 839 beautiful at this season; the trees throwing out their branches, one above another, in bright variety of coloring and outline, every individual of the gay throng having a fancy of his own to humor. The oak loves a deep, rich red, or a warm scarlet, though some of his family are partial to yellow. The chestnuts are all of one shadeless mass of gold-color, from the highest to the lowest branch. The bass-wood, or linden, is orange. The aspen, with its silvery stem and branches, flutters in a lighter shade, like the wrought gold of the jeweller. The sumach, with its long, pinnated leaf, is of a brilliant scariet. The pepperidge is almost purple, and some of the ashes approach the same shade during certain sea- sons. Other ashes, with the birches and beech, hickory and elms, have their own tints of yellow. That beautiful and common vine, the Virginia creeper, is a vivid cherry-color. ‘The sweet-gum is vermilion. The Viburnum tribe and dog-woods are dyed in lake. As for the maples, they always rank first among the show; there is no other tree which contributes singly so much to the beauty of the season, for it unites more of brilliancy, with more of variety, than any of its companions ; with us it is also more common than any other tree. Here you have a soft maple, vivid scarlet from the highest to the lowest leaf; there js another, a sugar maple, a pure sheet of gold; this is dark crimson like the oak, that is vermilion ; another is parti-colored, pink and yellow, green and red; yonder is one of a deep purplish hue; this is still green, that is mottled in patches, another is shaded ; still another blends all these colors on its own branches, in capricious confusion, the dif- ferent limbs, the separate twigs, the single leaves, varying fromm each other in distinct colors, and shaded tints. And in every direction a repetition of this magnificent picture meets the eye: in 340 RURAL HOURS. the woods that skirt the dimpled meadows, in the thickets and copses of the fields, in the bushes which fringe the brook, im the trees which line the streets and road-sides, in those of the lawns and gardens—brilliant and vivid in the nearest groves, gradu- ally lessening in tone upon the farther woods and successive knolls, until, in the distant back-ground, the hills are colored by a mingled confusion of tints, which defy the eye to seize them. Among this brilliant display, there are usually some few trees which fade, and wither, and dry into a homely brown, without appearing to feel the general influence; the sycamores, the locusts, for instance, and often the elms also, have little beauty to attract the eye, seldom aiming at more than a tolerable yellow, though at times they may be brighter. Imported trees, transplanted originally from the Old World, preserve, as a rule, the more sober habits of their ancestral woods ; the Lombardy poplar and the weeping willow are only pale yel- low; the apple and pear trees, and some of the garden shrubs, lilacs, and syringas, and snow-balls, generally wither, without bril- liancy, though once in a while they have a fancy for something rather gayer than pale yellow or russet, and are just touched with red or purple. Other trees, again, from some accident of position or other cause, will remain a clear green, weeks after their companions of the same species are in full color. But amid the general gayety, the few exceptions are scarcely observed, unless they are pointed out, and the beautiful effect of the great picture remains unbroken. One observes also, that the spirit of the scene is carried out in many lesser details, for which we are scarcely prepared. Walking AUTUMN. 341 through the woods and fields, you find many of the smaller shrubs very prettily colored, little annuals also, and the seedlings of the forest-trees. The tiny maples especially, not longer than your finger, with half a dozen little leaflets, are often as delicately colored as blossoms, pink, and red, and yellow. Some of the flowering plants, also, the sarsaparillas and May-stars, with their finely-cut leaves, are frequently of a soft, clear straw-color. One may make very handsome bunches of these bright leaves; a branch of the golden chestnut, or aspen, or birch, a crimson twig from a young oak, another of scarlet maple, a long, plume-like leaf of the red sumach, with some of the lesser seedlings, and the prettiest of the wood-plants, make up a bouquet which almost rivals the dahlias in brilliancy. Some persons occasionally complain that this period of the year, this brilliant change in the foliage, causes melancholy feelings, arousing sad and sorrowful ideas, like the flush on the hectic cheek. But surely its more natural meaning is of a very different import. Here is no sudden blight of youth and beauty, no sweet hopes of life are blasted, no generous aim at usefulness and ad- vancing virtue is cut short; the year is drawing to its natural term, the seasons have run their usual course, all their blessings have been enjoyed, all our precious things are cared for; there is nothing of untimeliness, nothing of disappointment in these shorter days and lessening heats of autumn. As well may we mourn over the gorgeous coloring of the clouds, which collect to pay homage to the setting sun, because they proclaim the close of day ; as well may we lament the brilliancy of the evening star, and the silvery brightness of the crescent moon, just ascending into the 342 RURAL HOURS. heavens, because they declare the approach’ of night and her shadowy train ! Mark the broad land glowing in a soft haze, every tree and grove wearing its gorgeous autumnal drapery ; observe the vivid freshness of the evergreen verdure; note amid the gold and crimson woods, the blue lake, deeper in tint at this season than at any other; see a more quiet vein of shading in the paler lawns and pastures, and the dark-brown earth of the freshly-ploughed fields ; raise your eyes to the cloudless sky above, filled with soft and pearly tints, and then say, what has gloom to do with such a pic- ture? Tell us, rather, where else on earth shall the human eye behold coloring so magnificent and so varied, spread over a field so vast, within one noble view? In very truth, the glory of these last waning days of the season, proclaims a grandeur of beneficence which should rather make our poor hearts swell with gratitude at each return of the beautiful autumn accorded to us. Thursday, 12th.—Rather cool this afternoon. As we were walking to and fro, about twilight, a bat came flickering across our path several times. lt was quite a small one, and perhaps inexperienced in life, for most of his kind have already disappeared —we have not seen one for some weeks. There are said to be five different kinds of bats in this State, and we have a good share here. One evening in the month of August, there were no less than five of these creatures in the house at the same time; after a prolonged fight, two of them were routed ; the other three kept possession of the ground all night. Friday, 13th.—Delightful day. Long walk in the woods. Found a few asters and golden-rods, silver-rods, and everlastings, scattered about. The flowers are becoming rare, and chary of LAST FLOWERS. 343 their presence ; still, so long as the green grass grows, they lie scattered about, one here, another there, it may be in the shady woods, or it may be in the flower-border ; reminding one of those precious things which sweeten the field of life—kindly feelings, holy thoughts, and just deeds—which may still be gleaned by hose who earnestly seek them, even in the latest days of the great pilgrimage. The woods are very beautiful; on Mount the ground- work of the forest was colored red by the many little whortleberry bushes growing there—they are brighter than usual. Here and there we found fresh berries on them, and a white flower among their red leaves. Some of the wych-hazels have lost their foliage entirely, the yellow blossoms hanging on leafless branches. A number of the trees, in low situations and along the shores of the lake, are quite green still. The alders are all unchanged. So are the apple-trees, lilacs, syringas, the willows and aspens. The poplars are beginning to turn yellowish on their lower branches, their tops are still clear green. Saturday, 14th.—Pleasant day. Walked some distance along the bank of the river. Gathered handsome berries of the cran- berry-tree. Found many vines along the bank in that direction ; bitter-sweet, with its red berries; hairy honeysuckle; green- briars, with their dark-blue berries, besides many Virginia creepers and grape-vines. Observed several soft maples of a clear gold- color throughout, while others near them were bright crimson ; they are not so often variegated as the sugar maple. Saw a handsome thorn-tree vivid red. The large leaves of the moose- wood are yellow. The mountain maple is pinkish red. Plums and wild cherries reddish. A handsome dog-wood, of the alternate- 344 RURAL HOURS. leaved variety, deep lake; it was quite a tree. The Viburnums are generally well colored at this season; the large leaves of the hobble-bush especially are quite showy now. This is the American ‘“‘way-faring tree,’ but on several accounts it scarcely deserves the name; though pretty in its way, it is only a shrub, and in- stead of giving pleasure to the wanderer, it is frequently an obstacle in his path, for the long branches will sometimes root themselves anew from the ends, thus making a tangled thicket about them ; this habit, indeed, has given to the shrub the name of “ hobble-bush.” The blackberry-bushes are a deep brownish red ; the wild raspberries purplish red. Altogether, the shrubs and bushes strike us as more vividly colored than usual. 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