Then came October
full of merry glee;
For yet his noule was totty of the must,
Which he was treading in the wine-fat's see,
And of the joyous oyle, whose gentle gust
Made him so frolic and so full of Lust:
Upon a dreadful Scorpion he did ride,
The same which by Diana's doom unjust
Slew great Orion; and coke by his side
He had his ploughing-share and coulter ready tyde.
Spenser
DESCRIPTIVE
It is now yellow autumn, no longer
divided from summer by the plumy sheaf and lingering flowers, but with
features of its own, marked with slow decay. There is a rich hectic
red on its cheek, too beautiful to last long, and every wind that
blows pales the crimson hue, or scatters its beauty on the empty air,
for everywhere around us the leaves are falling. But through the
openings autumn makes in the foliage, many new beauties are
revealed-bits of landscape, which the long close-woven leaves had shut
out, of far-away spots, that look like a new country, so strange do
they appear when seen for the first time through the faded and torn
curtains which have shaded summer.
Hill and valley, spire and thatched
grange, winding highways and brown bends, over the meadows-with stiles
and hedges-shew fresh footpaths, which we have never walked along, and
make us logo to look at the unvisited places to which they lead We see
low clumps of evergreens, which the tall trees had hidden; nests in
hedges, where we were before unable to find one; and in the orchards a
few hardy apples still hang, which only the frost can ripen. The
fields seem to look larger, where we saw the grass mown and the corn
reaped, for we can now see the bottoms of the hedges. The cherry-trees
look as beautiful to the eye as they did when in blossom, such a rich
scarlet dyes the leaves, mingled every here and there with golden
touches.
The elders are still covered with dark purple berries,
especially the branches which overhang the water-courses, and are
beyond the reach of the villagers. We see flags and rushes and
water-plants rocking in the breeze, and reflected in the ripples which
were hidden by the entangling grass that now lies matted together, and
is beginning to decay. As evening approaches, the landscape seems to
assume a sober hue, the colours of the foliage become subdued, and the
low sighing of the wind, the call of the partridge, and the few notes
uttered by the remaining birds, fall upon the ear with a sad sound at
times, and produce a low feeling, which we are seldom sensible of at
the change of any other season of the year.
There is still one out-of-door scene beautiful to look at and pleasant
to walk through, and that is hop-picking-the last ingathering of
autumn that finds employment for the poor; nor are there many prettier
English pictures to be seen than a well-managed hop-plantation. The
smell of the hop is very delightful, so different from that of new hay
and hawthorn-buds, yet quite as refreshing. What a beautiful motion
there is in the light and shadow when the breeze stirs the vice-shaped
leaves, and the golden coloured hops swaying the vine to and fro, and
sharp quiverings in the open net-work where they cross each other, and
all pervaded with a soothing aroma, that makes the blood stir like the
smell of the rising sap in a forest at spring-time! Merry people, too,
are the hop-pickers, whether at their work, or when going or returning
from the hop-plantations.
The little huts they run up to sleep in,
their places of cooking, washing, and other domestic contrivances,
tell that they belong to the race who have heralded the way into many
a wilderness, lived there, and founded colonies, that are now
springing up into great nations. We see them traveling to the
hop-grounds with baby on back, and leading children by the hand,
carrying cradle and bed, saucepan and kettle, and no doubt nearly
everything their humble home contained. We look on and wonder how
those tiny bare feet will ever tramp so far, yet while turning the
head and watching them, we see them go pit-pat over the ground, three
or four steps to the one or two longer strides of their parents,
caring no more for the gravel than if they were shod with iron, and we
are astonished to see what a way they have gone while we have been
watching.
Sometimes, in the hop-grounds, we have seen a cradle
with
the baby asleep in it, swinging between the tall hop-bines, and
thought what a pretty picture it would make, if well painted! Often,
in the neighborhood of Farnham, the hop attains the height of from
fourteen to sixteen feet, and excepting between a clear hazel-copse,
when the leaves are yellowed by autumn, we know nothing more beautiful
to walk among than these tall swaying bines. It flowers in June, and
in favorable seasons is ripe in September, though many hops remain to
be picked in the early part of the present month. There are several
varieties of hops grown, known as the red-bind, green-bind, and
white-bind; the first of which, though producing small cones, is a
hardy plant, and resists the attacks of insects; while the second is
very productive in a good season, and will flourish better in a poor
soil than the white bind, which is the most difficult of all to grow,
and realizes the highest price of all the hops. Good practiced growers
fix upon the time for hop-picking when the cones throw out a strong
peculiar scent, which they know the moment the air is filled with it,
and they pay more regard to this powerful aroma than they do to the
looks of the hops.
Nor is it at hoppicking-time only that this
beautiful plant gives employment to the poor, though that is the chief
season, for in spring the ground has to be well stirred and drawn up
about the young shoots then the poles must be placed in the ground
about the end of April, when the shoots are generally five or six
inches high. And after all this is done, the shoots must be tied to
the poles as they grow higher, and this must be done very lightly and
carefully, for if fastened too tight, the shoot would decay, come off,
and send out fresh ones from below, which would attain no height, be
dwindled, and not bear a bunch of cones worth the gathering. The
wild-hop, which may be seen romping about our hedges, is indigenous,
and pretty . it looks amid the other climbing-plants, many of which
bear beautiful berries, nor is there any record of its having been
cultivated before the reign of Henry VIII. It was, however, imported
from the Low Countries, and used for brewing in England, as early as
1428.
To an observant eye, many little changes are presented, which shew how
rapidly autumn is advancing. The flocks are now driven to the fold of
an evening, for the nights are becoming too cold and damp for them to
remain in the fields, and they will soon be enclosed in ground set
apart for their winter-feeding. It is a pleasant sight to see them
rush out of the fold of a morning after their confinement, then hurry
on and break their closed ranks to feed here and there on the
unpalatable and scanty pasturage.
Turn wherever we may, we see the
face of Nature changing; nowhere does it now wear its old summer-look,
the very sound of the falling leaves causes us to feel thoughtful, and
many a solemn passage of the Holy Bible passes through the mind,
telling us that the time will come when we also 'shall fade as a leaf
the wind has taken away. And all thou hast shall fall down as the leaf falleth
from the vine.' That we shall soon be 'as oaks when they cast
their leaves,' and at no other season of the year do these solemn
truths strike us so forcibly as in autumn.
As the fallen leaves career
before inns-crumbling ruins of summer's beautiful halls-we cannot help
thinking of those who have perished-who have gone before us, blown
forward to the grave by the icy blasts of Death. The scenery of spring
awakens no such emotions, there is no sign of decay there, for all
seems as if fresh springing into life, after the long sleep of winter.
But now, even the sun seems to be growing older, he rises later and
sets earlier, as if requiring more rest, instead of increasing in heat
and brightness, as he did when the butter-cups looked up at him and
'flashed back gold for gold.' Yet we know this natural decay is
necessary to produce the life and beauty of a coming spring, and it is
some solace to know, that for every flower autumn rains and blows upon
and buries, a hundred will rise up and occupy their places by the time
summer returns again, for it is her work to beautify decay.
Nearly all our singing-birds have departed for sunnier lands far over
the sea, and the swallows are now preparing to follow them, while,
strange interchange, other birds visit us which have been away all
spring and summer. Sonic days before the swallows leave us, they
assemble together, at certain places-generally beside a river-where
they wait fresh arrivals, until a flock of thousands is mustered; and
were not the same gathering going on at other places beside, we might
fancy that all the swallows that visit us were assembled in one spot.
One place they frequented, which abounded in osier bolts, in our
younger days, and when up early angling, we have seen them rise in
myriads from the willows about six in the morning, and dividing
themselves into five or six companies, disperse in contrary
directions, when they remained away all day, beginning to return
about five, and continuing to come in until it was nearly dark. No
doubt this separation took place on account of the scarcity of food,
as sufficient could not be found, without flying many miles from the
riverside, where they assembled. Every day the flock appeared to
augment, and we have no doubt that every division, on its return to
this great mustering ground, brought in many stragglers.
We have also
often fancied that it was here the young swallows exercised
themselves, strengthening their, wings for the long journey that lay
before them, by circling flights and graceful evolutions, as if trying
at times which could come nearest the water at the greatest speed
without touching a drop with either breast or pinions. We also came to
the conclusion, that all the young ones did not accompany the
divisions that went away every day in search of food, but only a
portion---as thousands retrained-and that those which went out one day
rested the next, and had their turn on the second morning, or each
alternate day. They seldom remained later than the middle of October,
and when they left for good, went away all together, in the direction
of the south. A few generally remained for a day or two, then went off
in the same direction. Dead swallows were generally picked up among
the willows after the flock had migrated.
Earliest amongst the fresh
arrivals is the wood-cock, who generally reaches the end of his
journey in the night, and very weary and jaded he appears. Seldom is
he ever seen to land, though he has been found hiding himself near the
coast, in so exhausted a state as to be run down, and taken by hand.
But he does not remain by the sea-side a day longer than he is
compelled, where, having recruited himself a little, he sets off to
visit his former haunts. The snipe also arrives about the same time,
and is found in the haunts of the wood-cock, on high moors and hills,
while the season is mild, and in low, warm, sheltered localities when
the weather is severe.
In October the redwing reaches us, and if the
autumn is fine and warm, its song may often be heard. Its favorite
haunts are parks, and secure places, abounding in clumps of trees,
where it feeds on worms, and such like soft food, so long as it can be
found; never feeding on berries unless they are forced by the frost,
then they soon perish. The early arrival of the fieldfare is
considered by country-people a sure sign of a hard winter, especially
if there is a large crop of heps and haws, which they say,
reverentially, Providence has stored up for them beforehand. We think
it is a surer sign, that, in the country they have quitted, severe
weather has set in earlier than usual. Some naturalists say, that
although this bird obtains its food in the hedges, it roosts on the
ground; the reason assigned for arriving at this conclusion is, that
those who go out at night with nets to capture larks in the field,
often find fieldfares amongst the birds thus taken. May not this have
been in some neighbourhood where hedges were rare, and caused them to
roost, like the rooks on Salisbury Plain, where there is plenty of
food, but very few trees, compelling them either to fly miles away at
night, or take up their lodgings 'on the cold ground?' Gilbert White
is the great authority for this account of the fieldfares.
The woods never look more beautiful than from the close of last month
to the middle of October, for by that time it seems as if nature had
exhausted all her choicest colours on the foliage. We see the rich,
burnished bronze of the oak; red of many hoes, up to the gaudiest
scarlet; every shade of yellow, from the wan gold of the primrose to
the deep orange of the tiger-lily; purple, rising from the light lilac
to the darkest velvet of the pansy streaked with jet; and all so
blended and softened together in parts, that like the colours on a
dove's neck, we cannot tell where one begins and the other ends. And
amid this change, the graceful fir-trees seem now to step boldly out,
and we are amazed at the quiet beauty we have so long overlooked as we
gaze upon these stately and swarthy daughters of autumn, who have been
hidden by their fairer sisters of summer.
We often wish that a few
more of our great landscape painters had devoted their canvas to the
endless tints of 'the fading and many-coloured woods,' as they are
seen at no other time excepting this season of the year. Nothing can
be grander than the autumnal foliage of the oak, with its variety of
tints, which are more numerous than can be found on any other tree,
where there are greens of every line, and browns running into shades,
that are almost numberless. The beech again-excepting only one or two
of our shrubs-is covered with the richest of all autumn colours-an
orange that seems almost to blaze again as you look at it in the
sunset, recalling the burning bush before which Moses bowed.
Nearly
one of the first trees to shed its foliage is the walnut; next the
ash, if covered with those keys that make such a rattling in the
November wind-if these are wanting, the tree remains much longer in
leaf. The ash is one of the most graceful of our forest-trees, with
its leaves set in pairs as if made to match one another, while its
smooth, tough branches have a gray hue, that seems to make a light
through every portion of the tree. The horse-chestnut now wears its
changing livery of shining gold, but can hardly be classed amongst our
English forest-trees, as it was a stranger to our parks,
ornamental-grounds, and copses less than two centuries ago.
The lime
or linden, though it soon loses its leaves, shews well in an autumn
landscape; so does the tall poplar, seeming as if trying to touch the
sky with its high up-coned head. How beautiful the elm now looks,
especially if its chancing foliage is seen from some summit that
overlooks a wood, for it is the tallest of our forest-trees, and its
topmost boughs may then be seen high above all others! Even so near
London as Dulwich, these stately trees may be seen in all their
beauty, and some of them look old enough to have thrown their
checkered shadows over Shakspeare, when he walked under them with
Alleyn the player, in consultation, as they laid out plans for the old
hospital which the latter built, and called by the solemn name of
'God's Gift.' And who can walk through our woods and forests without
feeling as if in the presence of Shakspeare, moving side by side with
him, and Orlando, and Rosalind, and that contented duke who found the
woods: 'More free from peril
than the envious court;' While the Forest of
Arden seems to rise before us with its herd of dappled deer, and in
the mind's eye we picture the melancholy Jacques reclining beneath
some broad-branched oak, ' whose antique roots peep out upon the
brook,' on which the falling leaves go gliding until lost by the
overhanging boughs that shut out the receding stream. What a pattering
there is now when the wind blows, as the pale golden acorns come
rattling out of their beautifully-carved cups-the drinking vessels of
our old fairy-tales, and often forming the tea-service of our country
children in the present day, when they play at giving a tea-party on
the floor of some thatched cottage ! And how grand is the piping of
the great autumn winds, sounding like an organ through the forest, and
causing us to feel that we are walking through a temple built by an
Almighty hand, for there is no sign of the builder man around us! That
trellised roof, where, through the openings made by the fallen leaves,
we see only the sky, points to a greater Builder than imitative man.
Beautiful as many of our poetical images are, drawn from the fallen
leaves, and sad as the sight is to see them lying around our walks,
still the fall of the leaf is not its death, no more than that of one
flower fading in a cluster is the death of the flower, as it only
falls to make room for another blossom. A swelling bud will always be
found in autumn above the leaf that is about to fall; and as this bud
increases, it pushes down its predecessor, and causes it to break off,
or to hang by so light a hold that the wind soon carries away the
loosened leaf. This bud, which forces off the old leaf, forms the
future stein or branches, which, during the following summer, will
bear many leaves in place of the one it has displaced; and though it
will cease to increase during the dead winter-months, will be among
the foremost to show itself in the spring.
Evergreens retain their
leaves throughout the winter, through the new buds not forcing off the
old foliage until spring, instead of putting out above the old foliage
in autumn as other trees do. This can be proved by transplanting
almost any tree; if it lives, the new buds will come out and push off
the old leaves, which soon begin to wither after its removal. But if
the tree does not retain life, the leaves will still wither, and
instead of falling off, remain on the branches, from whence they are
not easily removed though dead. The dead leaf remains on the tree; the
live leaf falls before it is dead, pressed down by the swelling bud
above it, but still retaining a great portion of its leafy moisture.
As for the colouring of autumn leaves, it is supposed
that the trees
absorb oxygen during the night, which, owing to the coldness of the
weather, they have not strength enough to throw out again in the
daytime, and that this gives an acidity to the juices of the tree,
which changes the colour of the leaf, or, that otherwise, they would
be pushed down by the new buds, in all their green summer array, Some
admit that this may be the case with leaves that are red, but not with
others that are brown and yellow. So the question remains open to many
doubts, and as we look at the changing foliage in reverence, we feel
satisfied in our own minds, that those beautiful touches have been put
in by the wonder-working hand of the Creator.
HISTORICAL
This month, so called
from being the eighth in the year according to the old Alban or Latin
calendar, was, by our Saxon ancestors, styled Wyn month, (modern,
Weinmonat), or the wine-month. In allusion to this epithet, an old
writer remarks, 'and albeit they had not anciently wines made in
Germany, yet in this season had they then from divers countries
adjoining.' October was also called, by the ancient Germans, Winter
fyllith, from the approach of winter with the full moon of the month.
In some of the ancient
Saxon calendars, this month is allegorized by the figure of a
husbandman carrying a sack on his shoulders and sowing corn, in
allusion to the practice of sowing the winter grain, which takes place
in October. In other old almanacs, the sport of hawking has been
adopted as emblematical of this, the last month of autumn.
CHARACTERISTICS OF
OCTOBER
On the 23rd of the month,
the sun enters the sign of Scorpio, an astronomical emblem said to
typify, in the form of a destructive insect, the increasing power of
cold over nature, in the same manner as the equal influence of cold
and heat are represented by Libra, or the balance, the sign of the
preceding month of September. The average temperature for the middle
of the month, throughout the British Islands, is about 50�. On the 1st,
the sun rises in the latitude of London at 6:11, and sets at 5:49.
Though a melancholy feeling is associated with October, from the
general decay of nature by which it is characterized, there occurs,
nevertheless, not infrequently in it, some of the finest and most
exhilarating weather of the year. Frosts in the mornings and evenings
are common, whilst the middle of the day is often enlivened by all the
sunshine of July without its oppressiveness, and the clearness of a
frosty day in December or January without its piercing cold.
October 1st
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