L

To match these mighty sorcerers of the soul Was given; but on the bosom, lone and still, Through wood and wild, o'er forest, rock, and Of nature cast, I early wont to stroll

hill,

Companionless; without a wish or goal, Save to discover every shape and voice of living thing that there did fearlessly rejoice.

And every day that boyish fancy grew;

And every day those lonely scenes became Dearer and dearer, and with objects new,

All sweet and peaceful, fed the young
spirit's flame

Then rose each silent woodland to the view,..
A glorious theatre of joy! then came
Each sound a burst of music on the air,
That sank into the soul to live for ever there!

Oh, days of glory! when the young soul drank
Delicious wonderment through every sense!
And every tone and tint of beauty sank

2

Into a heart that ask'd not how, or whence Came the dear influence; from the dreary blank

Of nothingness sprang forth to an existence Thrilling and wond'rous; to enjoy enjoy The new and glorious blessing-was its sole employ.

To roam abroad amidst the mists, and dews,

And brightness of the early morning sky, When rose and hawthorn leaves wore tenderest

.hues :

Seated upon her nest; or wondering muse To watch the mother linnet's stedfast eye, ‚' On her eggs's spots, and bright and delicate dye;

Or wren's green cone in some hoar mossy To peep into the magpie's thorny hall, wall;

To hear of pealing bells the distant charm,

As slow I wended down some lonely dale, Past many a bleating flock, and many a farm And solitary hall; and in the vale To meet of eager hinds a hurrying swarm,

With staves and terriers hastening to assail Polecat, or badger, in their secret dens, Or otter lurking in the deep and reedy fens :

To pass through villages, and catch the hum

Forth bursting from some antiquated school, Endow'd long since by some old knight, whose tomb

Stood in the church just by; to mark the dool

Of light-hair'd lads that inly rued their doom, Prison'd in that old place, that with the tool,

Stick-knife or nail, of many a sly offender, Was carved and figured over, wall, and desk, and window;

To meet in green lanes happy infant bands, Full of health's luxury, sauntering and singing,

A childish, wordless melody; with hands Cowslips, and wind-flowers, and green brook-lime bringing;

Or weaving caps of rushes; or with wands Guiding their minic teams; or gaily swinging

On some low sweeping bough, and clinging all One to the other fast, till, laughing, down they fail ;

To sit down by some solitary man,

Hoary with years, and with a sage's look, In some wild dell where purest waters ran, And see him draw forth his black-letter book, Wond'ring, and wond'ring more, as he began, On it, and then on many an herb to look, That he had wander'd wearily and wide, To pluck from jutting rocks, and woods, and

mountain side;

Shedding o'er weed and wort her healing power, For gifted wights to cull in her ascendant hour; To lie abroad on nature's lonely breast,

Amidst the music of a summer's sky, Where tall, dark pines the northern bank invest Of a still lake; and see the long pikes lie Basking upon the shallows; with dark crest, And threat'ning pomp, the swan go sailing by; And many a wild fowl on its breast that shone, Flickering like liquid silver, in the joyous sun: The duck, deep poring with his downward head,

Like a buoy floating on the ocean wave; The Spanish goose, like drops of crystal, shed The water o'er him, his rich plumes to lave; The beautiful widgeon, springing upward, spread

His clapping wings; the heron, stalking

And when warm summer's holiday was o'er, And the bright acorns patter'd from the trees, When fires were made, and closed was every door,

And winds were loud, or else a chilling breeze Came comfortless, driving cold fogs before :

On dismal, shivering evenings, such as these, To pass by cottage windows, and to see, Round a bright hearth, sweet faces shining happily;

These were the days of boyhood! Oh! such days Shall never, never more return againWhen the fresh heart, all witless of the ways, The sickening, sordid, selfish ways of men, Danced in creation's pure and placid blaze,

Making an Eden of the loneliest glen! Darkness has follow'd fast, and few have been The rays of sunlight cast upon life's dreary

scene.

For years of lonely thought, in morning-tide
Of life, will make a spirit all unfit
To brook of men the waywardness and pride;
Too proud itself to woo, or to submit;
Seorning, as vile, what all adore beside,

And deeming only glorious the soul lit With the pure flame of knowledge, and the ere Filled with the gentle love of the bright earth and sky.

Fancy's spoil'd child will ever surely be

A thing of nothing in the worldly throng: Wrapp'd up in dreams that they can never see; Listening to fairy harp, or spirit's song, Where all to them is stillest vacancy:

For ever seeking, as he glides along, Some kindred heart, that feels as he has felt, And can read each thought that with him long has dwelt.

But place him midst creation!-let him stand Where wave and mountain revel in his sight, Then shall his soul triumphantly expand,

With gathering power, and majesty, and light!

The world beneath him is the temple plann'd

For him to worship in; and, pure and bright, Heaven's vault above, the proud eternal dome Of his Almighty Sire, and his own future home! With such inspiring fancies, mortal pride

Shrinks into nothing; and all mortal things He casts, as weeds cast by the ocean tide, From its embraces; the world's scorn he flings

Back on itself, disdaining to divide,

With its low cares, that sensitive spirit that

NATURALISTS' CALENDAR. Mean Temperature... 54 · 17.

season of foreboding, for "the year has reached its grand climacteric, and is fast falling into the sere, the yellow leaf.' Every day a flower drops from out the wreath that binds its brow-not to be renewed. Every hour the sun looks more and more askance upon it, and the winds, those summer flatterers, come to it less fawningly. Every breath shakes down showers of its leafy attire, leaving it gradually barer and barer, for the blasts of winter to blow through it. Every morning and evening takes away from it a portion of that light which gives beauty to its life, and chills it more and more into that torpor which at length constitutes its temporary death. And yet October is beautiful still, no less for what it gives than what it takes away;' and even for what it gives during the very act of taking away. The whole year cannot produce a sight fraught with more rich and harmonious beauty than that which the woods and groves present during this month, notwithstanding, or rather in consequence of, the daily decay of their summer attire; and at no other season can any given spot of landscape be seen to much advantage as a mere picture.-An extensive planta tion of forest trees presents a variety of colours and of tints that would scarcely be considered as natural in a picture, any more than many of the sunsets of September would. Among those trees which retain their green hues, the fir tribe are the principal; and these, spiring up among the deciduous ones, now differ from them no less in colour than they do in form. The alders, too, and the poplars, limes, and horse-chestnuts, are still green,-the hues of their leaves not undergoing much change as long as they remain on the branches. Most of the other forest trees have put on each its peculiar livery; the planes and sycamores presenting every variety of tinge, from bright yellow to brilliant red; the elms being, for the most part, of a rich sunny umber, varying according to the age of the tree and the circumstances of its soil, &c. ; the beeches having deepened into a warm glowing brown, which the young ones will retain all the winter, and till the new spring leaves push the present ones off; the oaks varying from a dull dusky green to a deep russet, according to their ages; and the Spanish chestnuts, with their noble embowering heads, glowing like clouds of gold. As for the hedge-rows, though they have lost nearly all their flowers, the

various fruits that are spread out upon them for the winter food of the birds, make them little less gay than they were in spring and summer. The most conspicuous of these are the red hips of the wild rose; the dark purple bunches of the luxuriant blackberry; the brilliant scarlet and green berries of the nightshade; the wintry-looking fruit of the hawthorn; the blue sloes, covered with their soft tempting-looking bloom; the dull bunches of the woodbine; and the sparkling hollyberries.-We may also still, by seeking for them, find a few flowers scattered about beneath the hedge-rows, and the dry banks that skirt the woods, and even in the woods themselves, peeping up meekly from among the crowds of newly fallen leaves. The prettiest of these is the primrose, which now blows a second time. But two or three of the persicaria tribe are still in flower, and also some of the goosefoots. And even the elegant and fragile heathbell, or harebell, has not yet quite disappeared; while some of the ground flowers that have passed away have left in their place strange evidences of their late presence; in particular, the singular flower (if it can be called one) of the arums, or lords and ladies, has changed into an upright bunch, or long cluster, of red berries, starting up from out the ground on a single stiff stem, and looking almost like the flower of a hyacinth.The open fields during this month, though they are bereaved of much of their actual beauty and variety, present sights that are as agreeable to the eye, and even more stirring to the imagination, than those which have passed away. The husbandman is now ploughing up the arable land, and putting into it the seeds that are to produce the next year's crops; and there are not, among rural occupations, two more pleasant to look upon than these: the latter, in particular, is one that, while it gives perfect satisfaction to the eye as a mere picture, awakens and fills the imagination with the prospective views which it opens. It is not till this month that we usually experience the equinoxial gales, those fatal visitations which may now be looked upon as the immediate heralds of the coming on of winter; as in the spring they were the sure signs of its having passed away. Bitter-sweet is it, now, to lie awake at night, and listen wilfully (as if we would not let them escape us) to the fierce howlings of the winds, each accession of which gives new

And the fierce storm that slew it has faded away,

Like the dark dream that flies from the light of the day, The Improvisatrice.

October 1.

LAWLESS COURT.

This is the season of holding a remarkable court, which we are pleasantly introduced to by the relation of a good old writer.*

Ryding from Ralegh towards Rochford, I happened to haue the good companie of a gentleman of this countrey, who, by the way, shewed me a little hill, which he called the Kings Hill; and told me of a strange customarie court, and of long continuance, there yearely kept, the next Wednesday after Michaelmas day without any kinde of light, saue such as in the night, upon the first cock crowing the heavens will affoard: The steward of

the court writes onely with coales, and calleth all such as are bound to appeare, with as low a voice as possiblie he may, giuing no notice when he goeth to execute his office. Howsoever, he that gives not answer is deeply amerced; which servile attendance (saith he) was imposed at the first vpon certaine tenants of divers mannors hereabouts, for conspiring in this raise a commotion. The title of the enplace, at such an vnseasonable time, to trie of the court hee had in memory, and writ it downe for me when we came to Rochford." Fuller speaks of its running "in obscure barbarous rimes," which he inserts nearly in the words of the legal authorities who give the following ac count:

“Lawless Court. On Kingshill at Rochford in Essex, on Wednesday morn crowing, Is held a Court, vulgarly called ing next, after Michaelmas day, at Cocks

The Lawless Court. They whisper and have no Candle, nor any Pen and Ink but a Coal; and he that ows Suit or Service, and appears not, forfeits double his rent every hour he is missing. This Court belongs to the Honor of Ralegh, and to the Earl of Warwick; and is called Lawless,' because held at an unlawful or lawless hour, or Quia dicta cine lege. The Title of it in the Court Rolls, runs thus,

• Fuller.