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Next was November; he full grosse and fat
As fed with lard, and that right well might scenic;
For he had been a fatting hogs of late,
That yet his browes with sweat did reek and steem,
And yet the season was full sharp and breem;
In
planting eeke he took no small delight:
Whereon he rode, not easie was to deeme;
For it a
dreadful Centaure was in sight,
The seed of Saturne and fair Nais, Chiron hight.
Spenser
DESCRIPTIVE
What an uproar there is in the old forests and
woods when the November winds lift up their mighty voices, and the huge trees
clashing
together, like the fabled giants battling with knotted
clubs against the invisible assailant, whose blows
they feel but cannot see struck, so wage war on one
another! On every hand we hear the crash and fall of
mighty branches, and sometime a large tree torn up by
the roots comes down, quick as an avalanche, levelling
all it falls upon, where it lies with its blackening
leaves above the crushed underwood like some huge
mammoth that has perished. The sky is low and gloomy
and leaden-coloured, and a disheartening shadow seems
to fall on everything around. We see swine rooting in
the desolate cornfields, among the black and rotten
stubble, while the geese come draggled and dirty from
the muddy pond, which is half-choked up with fallen
leaves.
On the cold naked hedge a few ears, which the
birds have long since emptied, hang like
funeral-wreaths over the departed harvest. The rain raineth every day on the heps
and haws and
autumn-berries, and beats the brown seed-vessels of
the dead-flowers into the earth, while the decayed
leaves come rolling up to make a covering for their
graves. In some low-lying dank corner a few blackened
bean-sheaves, that never ripened, are left to rot; and
if you walk near them, you see the white mould
creeping along the gaping pods. There is a deathly
smell from slimy water-flags and rotting sedge beside
the stagnant meres, and at every step your footprint
is filled up with the black oozing of the saturated
soil the moment it is made. You see deserted sheds in
the fields where the cattle sheltered, rent and blown
in; and if you enter one to avoid the down-pouring
torrent, the dull gray November sky is seen through
the gaping thatch, even in the puddle on the floor
where the water has lodged. The morsel of hay in the
corner you would fain sit down upon is mouldy, and as
you look at the beam which spans across, you fancy
some one must have hanged himself on it, and hurry out
again into the pouring rain.
November is the
pioneer of Winter, who comes, with his sharp winds and
keen frosts, to cut down every bladed and leafy bit of
green that is standing up, so as to make more room for
the coming snow-flakes to fall on the level waste, and
form a great bed for Winter to sleep upon. He blows
all the decaying leaves into dreary hollows, to fill
them up, so that when Winter is out on the long dark
nights, or half-blinded with the great feathery
flakes, he may not fall into them. If a living flower
still stands above its dead companions, it bends its
head like a mourner over a grave, and seems calling on
our mother-earth to be let in. The swollen streams
roar and hurry along, as if they were eager to bury
themselves in the great rivers, for they have no
flowers to mirror, no singing of birds to tempt them
to linger among the pebbles and listen, no green
bending sprays to toss to and fro, and play with on
their way, and they seem to make a deep complaining as
they rush along between the high brimming banks.
The few cattle that
are out, stand head to head, as if each tried to warm
the other with its breath, or turned round to shut out
the gloomy prospect that surrounds them, laying down
their ears at every whistle of the wind through the
naked hedges. Even the clouds, when they break up,
have a ragged and vagrant look, and appear to wander
homeless about the sky, for there is no golden fire in
the far west now for them to gather about, and sun
themselves in its warmth: they seem to move along in
doubt and fear, as if trying to find the blue sky they
have lost. The woodman returns home at night with his
head bent down, feeling there is nothing cheerful to
look round upon, while his dog keeps close behind,
seeming to avail himself of the little shelter his
master affords from the wind, while they move on
together. The pleasantest thing we see is the bundle
of fagots he carries on his shoulders, as it reminds
us of home�the crackling fire, the clean-swept hearth,
and the cozy-looking kettle, that sits ' singing a
quiet tune,' on the hob. We pity the poor fellow with
the bundle under his arm, who stands looking up at the
guide-post where three roads meet, and hope he has not
far to go on such a stormy and moonless night.
But amid all these images of desolation, which
strike the eye more vividly through missing the
richly-coloured foliage that threw such beauty over
the two preceding months, November has still its
berries which the early frosts have ripened to
perfection. Turn the eye wheresoever we may, during
our walks, heps and haws abound on the
hawthorn-hedges, and where the wild-roses of summer
hang swaying in the wind. The bramble-berries, which
cottage-children love to gather, besmearing their
pretty faces with the fruit, have now their choicest
flavour, and melt in the mouth when eaten, looking
like beautiful ornaments carved in jet as they rock in
the autunn winds. Many a poor village-housewife brings
a smile to the children's faces as she places her
blackberry pie or pudding on the table, for it is a
fruit that requires but little sugar, and is a cheap
luxury added to the usual scanty meal.
Then there are
the sloes and bullaces, almost always to be found in
old hedges, which at this season have a misty blue
bloom on them, equal to any that we see on the grape.
These the country-people gather and keep sound through
all the long winter, and they are equal in flavour to
the finest damsons our orchards can produce. Though
many varieties of plum-trees have been brought to
England at different times, yet it is to the sloe and
bullace we are indebted for our serviceable plums, as
these shrubs are indigenous, and have been brought to
perfection by cultivation through many centuries. The
dewberry bears so close a resemblance to the
blackberry when ripe, that it is not easy to
distinguish the difference. When in flower, it is as
beautiful as the blossoms of the wild-rose, the fruit
has also a blue bloom on it like the plum, which is
never found on the blackberry; the divisions of the
berry are also larger, and not so numerous. Often, is
seen growing among the ling, the pretty cloudberry,
only just overtopping the heather, for it is seldom
more than a foot high, and its fruit is of a splendid
orange colour when ripe, though rather too acid to
please every taste. But of all the little
berry-bearing beauties, none beat the bilberry when in
bloom, for it is then covered with rosy-coloured
wax-like flowers, which few of our choice green-house
plants excel, and for which we marvel it has not been
more cultivated.
Birds are partial to this berry,
which bears a grape-like bloom, and game fed upon it
is said to be as superior in flavour as mutton, fed on
pastures abounding in wild-thyme, is to that fattened
only or grass. But the fairy of our shrubs�which may
rank with the harvest-mouse among animals, and the
humming-birds among the feathered race�is the tiny
cranberry, which you must bend the back to find, as it
only grows three or four inches high. Whether our 1
grandmother had some secret art of preserving these
delicious berries, which is now lost�or the fruit has
deteriorated in flavour�we cannot tell, but somehow we
fancy that cranberries have not the delicious taste
now which they had in our boyish days.
The most wonderful plant that bears berries, is the
butcher's broom, which may be seen covered with fruit
as large as cherries, in the very depth of winter.
Both flower and berry grow out of the very middle of
the leaf, and it would make a pleasant change in our
Christmas decoration, as it is an evergreen, and quite
as beautiful as the holly. The black berries of the
privet remain on the branches all winter long, and are
found there when the sprays are covered with the fresh
green leaves of spring. These berries are much harder
than our heps and haws; and retain their fulness when
all the other hedge-fruits are withered and tasteless,
though the birds generally seem to leave them till the
last, as if they only ate them when nothing else could
be got. They make a grand show with their large
clusters amid the nakedness of winter, though almost
failing to attract the eye now if seen beside the
wild-cornel or dogwood-berries. Autumn has nothing
more beautiful than the wild-cornel, with its
deep-purple berries hanging on rich red-coloured
branches, and surrounded with golden, green, and
crimson foliage, as if all the richest hues of autumn
were massed together to beautify it, and wreath the
black purple of the berries.
Another tree, which
scarcely arrests the eye in summer, now makes a
splendid show, for the seed-vessels appear like roses,
the capsules separating like the petals of the Queen
of Flowers, for such is the appearance of the
spindle-tree. The woody nightshade, whose purple
petals and deep golden anthers enriched the hedge-row
a few weeks ago, is now covered with clusters of
scarlet berries, not unlike our red garden currants;
while both the foliage and berries of the guelderrose
seem kindled into a red blaze. But the bird-cherry is
the chameleon of shrubs in autumn, its bunches of
rich-looking fruit changing from a beautiful green to
a rich red, and then to the colour of the darkest of
black-heart cherries, and looking equally as luscious
to the eye, though it would be dangerous to eat so
many as we might of the real cherries without harm.
Beside all these, and many other beautiful berries, we
have now the ferns all ablaze with beauty�vegetable
relics of an old world�and many of them as pleasing to
the eye as our choicest flowers. Where is there a
grander sight than a long moorland covered with
bracken at the close of autumn?�the foliage of the
trees is not to be compared with that outspread land
of crimson and gold. And there is such a forest smell
about it too�that real country aroma, which we get a
sniff of in villages where they have only
wood-fires�for there is nothing else to compare with
the smell of fern where it covers long leagues of wild
moorland.
Many little animals are busy, during the autumn, in
laying up stores for winter; for though some of them
sleep away the greater portion of the cold season, a
change in the weather often causes them to awaken,
when they have recourse to the pro-vision they have
saved; and as soon as the mild warm weather is again
succeeded by cold, they coil themselves up, and sleep
again. The hibernation of the squirrel is shorter than
that of any of our winter-sleeping animals, for he is
up and away as soon as he is awakened by a mild
atmosphere, and as he has generally more than one
larder, enjoys himself until slumber again overtakes
him; for we can imagine, from his active habits, that
he is not likely to remain in his nest while there is
a glimpse of warm sunshine to play in.
The hedge-hog
is a sound sleeper, and stores up no provision, though
its hibernation is sometimes broken during a very mild
winter, when it may at times be found in the night,
searching for food under the sheltered hedges. The
pretty dormouse coils itself up like a ball of twine
in its winter-nest, curling the tail around the head
to the other side of its back, as if tying itself
together before going to sleep. Should it awake, there
is store of food at hand, which it holds in its
forepaws like the squirrel, while sitting up to munch
an acorn, hep, or haw, or whatever is stored up, and
it is a great hoarder of various kinds of seeds. But
few of these torpid animals store their granaries
better than the long-tailed field-mouse; considering
its smallness, the quantity of corn that has been
found in a single nest is amazing. Even if we reckon
it to have carried from the harvest-field a full ripe
ear at a time, it must have made many journeys to
accumulate so much food. Nothing seems to come amiss
to it, for if there has been no cornfield at hand, its
hoard has been found to consist of nuts, and acorns,
gathered from the neighbouring wood, which has
sometimes been five or six hundred yards from its
nest.
Above five hundred nuts and acorns have been
taken out of its storehouse; and as it can hardly be
supposed that so small an animal could carry more than
one at a time, we have proof of its industry in the
hoard it must have laboured so hard to get together.
One might suppose that, early in autumn, when the
weather is fine, these little animals would give
themselves up to enjoyment, instead of carrying the
many loads they do to their nests, did we not find
proof to the contrary. The ant lays up no store at
all, though it has so often supplied an image of
industry in poetry. It is not only one of the
sleepiest of insects in winter, but when applied as
chloroform, soon steeps the senses in forgetfulness.
The ancient Greeks were acquainted with its drowsy
properties, and availed themselves of it.
Some
naturalists say that the hibernating animals we have
glanced at, spread out their provisions in the sun to
dry and ripen before carrying them into their nests.
That this may be the case, we can hardly doubt, having
seen ears of corn, nuts, acorns, and seeds, about the
roots of trees, at a considerable distance from the
spots where they were grown, and in such positions as
they could not have fallen into, even had they been
shaken down by the wind. The foresight of these
hibernating mammals is proved through their laying up
provision against the time they may awaken, long weeks
before they retire to their winter-sleep. Nor is it
less wonderful to note the going out and coming in of
the migrating birds in autumn; for though all our
songsters that are migratory have long since gone, we
now hear the screaming of coming flocks in the still
night�the clamour of voices high overhead, which is
some-times startling in the star-lighted silence. Most
of our aquatic birds land in the night, though long
strings of wild-geese are often seen forming a V-like
figure in the air, as they wing their way to our fenny
and marshy lands in the daytime. If flying low enough,
the leader of the van, forming the point of V or A,
who seems to cleave the air, to make a passage for his
followers, will be seen after a time to fall into the
rear, when another bird takes his place, until he in
time also falls back, as if through fatigue; nor can
there be any doubt that the leader, who first pierces
the air, through which the whole flock passes, has to
exert himself more than his followers.
Though the
heron may now and then be seen, standing as motionless
as if sculptured in marble, at some bend of a river or
stream, it is now rather a scarce bird, for there are
not more than four or five heronries in England, in
which they build and breed close together like rooks.
The heron shifts from place to place in search of
food, but, like several other of our birds, is not
migratory, though it may be seen in some parts of our
island at this season, where it rarely appears during
any other portion of the year. It flies very high, and
in dull weather may often be heard, while on the wing,
far beyond the reach of the eye. At first there
appears something strange and mysterious in birds
coming over to winter with us, and migrating again at
the first appearance of spring, and never, or very
rarely, staying to breed with us. One of our
celebrated naturalists argues that the sun is the
great moving-power; that they are again forced
northward in spring by the same impulse which brings
back again our summer singing-birds; 'all seeking
again those spots where they first saw the light,
there to rear their young;' and that a failure of
temperature and food causes them to follow the sun in
autumn.
Some think that from
the time a bird remains with us, a calculation might
be made as to the distance it goes after leaving our
shores; that, because some remain a month or so longer
with us than others, they do not fly so far away as
those which migrate earlier. But the rapidity of the
flight of a bird, and its power of remaining on the
wing, are objects of consideration; and though the
swallow is among the last to leave us, it would fly
treble the distance in a few hours than many other
birds that leave us earlier, and have neither its
strength nor stretch of wing to carry them a great
distance. As to the time of departure or arrival of
our passenger-birds, that must always depend upon the
state of the season at the point of departure; for, as
we have before remarked, they can know nothing of the
backwardness or forwardness of the autumn or spring in
the countries they visit, no more than they can tell
before they arrive here whether our April is green, or
has had all its buds bitten off by a killing frost,
such as we well remember to have seen.
Take the dates of the
departures and arrivals of our birds from the
calendars of some of the most celebrated English
naturalists, and they will be found to vary at times a
month or more in different years, especially the
arrivals. A summer abounding in insect-food will cause
birds to leave us earlier, after a forward spring,
because their young were sooner hatched, and are
stronger and better able to accompany their parents
than they would have been had they left the shell
later, and been pinched while fed by the parent-birds,
through a scarcity of food. The sky-lark, which has
long been silent, may now be heard in open sunny
places; and we find, from a note made four years ago,
that we heard it singing on the clowns in Surrey in
December.
The poetry of home, which we carry with us
unconsciously whithersoever we go, was never more
beautifully illustrated than in the poor emigrant's
sky-lark, which he carried with him when he left this
country for America. Crowds of English settlers used
to collect round his hut to hear it sing, and one of
them offered. all he had in the world�his horse and
cart�for the bird, but the owner refused to part with
it. We are indebted to the Rev. J. G. Wood for this
anecdote, which shews how the hearts of the rudest
class of men are touched at times by some trifle
which, brings back again home with all its old boughs
rustling before the 'inward eye.' No matter in what
form it appears, but anything which causes us to turn
to nature with an affectionate feeling, elevates both
mind and heart, inspires love, and makes us better,
for we can hardly do so without catching some glimpse
of the Great Creator, which carries the mind far
beyond the objects that surround us, to the thoughts
of those 'higher destinies which the soul is heir to,
and may be ours if we do not sell our godlike
birthright.
By the end of this month our gardens look desolate.
The few chrysanthemums that have survived have a
draggled and dirty look after the frost and rain, and
nothing out of doors, excepting the evergreens, remind
us of the green flush of departed summer. There is the
tapping of rain on our windows, and the roaring of the
wind through the long dark nights. The country-roads
are soft, and we stick in the mire at every step if we
traverse those rutted lanes, which were so delightful
to walk along only a few short weeks ago. Even the
heart of a brave man beats quicker, who, after passing
a treeless and houseless moor, hears the rattling of
the bones and irons of the murderer on the
gibbet-post, as he turns to enter the high dark wood,
which, when he has groped through, still leaves him a
long league from the solitary toll-gate�the only
habitable spot he will pass before reaching home. For
now, in the solemn language of the Holy Bible, we have
many a day of darkness and of gloominess, of clouds and of
thick darkness, even very dark, and no brightness in
it, for the land is darkened.'
HISTORICAL
November was styled by the ancient Saxons
Wint-monat, or the wind-month, from the gales of wind
which are so prevalent at this season of the year,
obliging our Scandinavian ancestors to lay up their
keels on shore, and refrain from exposing themselves
on the ocean till the advent of more genial weather in
the ensuing year. It bore also the name of Blot-monath,
or the bloody-month, from the circumstance of its
being customary then to slaughter great numbers of
cattle, to be salted for winter use. The epithet had
possibly also reference to the sacrificial rites
practised at this time.
CHARACTERISTICS OF NOVEMBER
On the 22nd of this month, the sun enters
the sign
of Sagittarius or The Archer, an emblem said to
express the growing predominance of cold which now
shoots into the substance of the earth, and suspends
the vegetative powers of nature. The average
temperature of the British Islands for the middle of
November is about 43�. On the 1st of the month, the
sun rises in the latitude of London at 7:11, and sets
at 4.49.
November is generally regarded as the gloomiest
month of the year, and it is perhaps true that less
enjoyment is derivable in it from external objects
than in any other of the twelve divisions of the
calendar. It is popularly regarded as the month of
blue devils and suicides. Leaden skies, choking
fogs�more especially in London�and torrents of rain,
combined frequently with heavy gusts of wind, which
shake down the last remaining leaves from the trees,
are phenomena of normal occurrence in November, and
certainly by no means conducive to buoyancy and
cheerfulness of spirits. Summer and autumn, with their
exhilarating influences, have fairly departed, and
winter, in its gloomiest phases, is approaching,
whilst the hilarity and joyousness of the
Christmas-season are still far off. The negative
character of November, as exemplified in a foggy day
of that month in London, is very happily depicted in
the following lines, by the prince of modern
humorists, Thomas Hood
'No sun�no moon!
No morn�no noon
No dawn�no dusk�no proper time of day�
No sky�no earthly view
No distance looking blue
No road�no street�no "t' other side the way"---
No end to any row
No indications where the crescents go�
No top to any steeple
No recognitions of familiar people�
No courtesies for showing 'em�
No knowing 'em!
No travelling at all�no locomotion,
No inkling of the way�no notion
"No go"�by land or ocean
No mail�no post
No news from any foreign coast�
No park�no ring no
afternoon gentility�
No company�no nobility
No warmth, no cheerfulness, no healthful ease�
No comfortable feel in any member
No shade, no shine, no butterflies, no bees,
No fruits, no flowers, no leaves, no birds,
November!'
November 1st
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