THE NATURALIST.

No. XI.-NOVEMBER.

"Soon all this uniform uncolour'd scene
Shall be dismantled of its fleecy load,
And flush into variety again.

From dearth to plenty, and from death to life,

Is Nature's progress, when she lectures man

In heavenly truth; evincing as she makes

The grand transition, that there lives and works

A soul in all things-and that soul is GOD.
The beauties of the wilderness are His

Who makes so gay the solitary place,

Where no eye sees them. And the fairer forms

That cultivation glories in are HIS.

He sets the bright procession on its way,

And marshals all the order of the year;

HE marks the bounds which winter may not pass,

And blunts his pointed fury; in its case,
Russet and rude, folds up the tender germe,

Uninjur'd, with inimitable art;

And ere one flow'ry season fades and dies,
Designs the blooming wonders of the next."

OVEMBER, the eleventh month of the year, or the ninth, reckoning, as the Romans reckoned, from March, "is drawn in a garment of changeable green, and has black upon his head." The last circumstance, thus quaintly stated, has reference, doubtless, to the canopy of clouds which, during this proverbially dark and dreary month, hangs over the gloomy landscape.

"November's sky is chill and drear,
November's leaf is red and sear;
No longer autumn's glowing red
Upon the forest hills is shed;

The sheep, before the pinching heaven,

*The atmosphere, during the month of November, is nearly saturated with mois. ture; dense mists and fogs abound; and gloomy, boisterous weather generally prevails. The mean temperature, during this month is about 42° of Fahrenheit; but the variation is great; the thermometer ranging between 23° and 62°.

† Peacham.

To shelter'd dale and down are driven,
Where yet some faded herbage pines,
And yet a watery sun beam shines :
In meek despondency they eye
The wither'd sward and wintry sky:
The shepherd shifts his mantle's fold,
And wraps him closer from the cold;
His dogs no merry circles wheel,
But, shivering, follow at his heel;
A cowering glance they often cast,

As deeper moans the gathering blast."

Still, however, departed as are the glories of Summer, and even of Autumn, neither is the garden utterly barren, nor the grove entirely silent. The Strawberry Tree (Arbutus unedo) bears, at once, during this month, in situations favourable to its flourishing, both flowers and fruit. This beautiful evergreen seems to thrive best in Ireland; of which country, indeed, many naturalists believe it to be a native. In the southern parts of England, and particularly in the neighbourhood of London, it exhibits in profusion its bright blossoms, but is said to produce but sparingly its rich crimson berries. Of evergreens, in general, it has been observed by a popular writer, that those which grow in cold latitudes, are, "furnished with strong, tenacious, viscid juices, which are usually most abundant at the base of the leaves, and which serve to protect them from the effects of cold and damp." In tropical climates, these juices are, obviously, less required; and accordingly it is found, that, although in such climates, the trees are almost all evergreens, their leaves are not provided with this peculiar protection against frost and moisture. It has also been remarked, that as the leaves of evergreens are, usually, darker in tint than those of deciduous trees, the tropical forests-majestic as they are,-never exhibit that endless variety and beautiful blending of shade and colour, which constitute, in the temperate zones, the peculiar charm of an autumnal landscape.

With respect to the order in which trees shed their leaves, it has been remarked, that "one of the first trees which become naked is the Walnut."* The Mulberry, the Ash, and the Horse-chesnut, come next in order. All trees which are lopped while young are observed to retain their leaves to a late period. Apple and Peach trees sometimes remain green till the very end of the month of November. Young Beech trees never lose their leaves till Spring; in fact, till the

* Vide "White's Selborne."

new leaves sprout, and push them off; in Autumn, however, the beechen leaves change their green for a deep chesnut colour. Tall Beeches usually cast their foliage about the beginning of November.

The brilliant Holly-hock, (Alcea rosea), of which so many splendid tints are known to modern gardeners, may still occasionally be seen, "Rejoicing in those sunny hours,"

which somtimes enlighten the brief noon-tide, even of the dark month of November; as may also the Primrose (Primula vera), the Hepatica, and some other "simple flowers." The appearance, at this time, of these latter flowers, which are the usual produce of "the young year," may be regarded,-as may also the songs of the Thrush and the Wren, and of some few other singing birds, which, according to the most observant naturalists, occasionally break forth, even during this gloomy month, into such vigorous song as would beseem the glad season of spring,-as giving promise of that renovation which shall succeed the apparently dead period of winter. To those who feel, as all must, in a greater or less degree,

"Feel the sad influence of the hour,

And wail the daisy's vanished flower,"

Or who, in common with the children of the "Scottish Bard,"

"Their summer gambols tell, and mourn,

And anxious ask,—will spring return?

And birds and lambs again be gay,

And blossoms clothe the hawthorn spray?"

-To all such, the poet's answer to his "mountain children,” may be given:

"Yes, prattlers, yes. The daisy's flower

Again shall paint the summer bower;

Again the hawthorn shall supply

The garlands you delight to tie :

The lambs upon the lea shall bound,
The wild birds carol to the round;
To mute and to material things,
New lifer evolving summer brings;
The genial call dead nature hears,
And in her glory re-appears."

Although, however, the larger proportion of the vegetable creation appear for the present to be dead, the animal kingdom will still afford to the student of nature abundant matter of observation. The habits

of "The Cricket on the hearth," have attracted the close attention of many naturalists. This little insect, (Gryllus domesticus), passes the summer in warm situations; such as the crevices of walls which have a western or southern aspect; or amid heaps of rubbish which are exposed to the summer sun. It leaves its summer abode about the end of August or the beginning of September, and establishes itself close to the kitchen or cottage fire-side, " and is as merry at Christmas as other insects are in the dog-days." The warm hearth, however, which it thus enjoys, affords to the cricket, as it has been observed, a refuge, not from death, but only from that temporary torpidity which it has been frequently known to support for a long time, when accidentally deprived of artificial warmth. A colony of crickets if suddenly deprived of the warmth of the winter fire round which they have been accustomed to congregate, will, at once, disappear, and take refuge in various undiscovered holes and hiding places; but let but the fire be rekindled, and the customary warmth renewed, and the little merry insects will immediately shake off their torpor, and emerging from their temporary places of retreat, will chirp, as before, around the domestic hearth. One of the most characteristic of the letters which constitute the deservedly popular "Natural History of Selborne," treats of the habits of the House-cricket. "These little insects," writes the Rev. Gilbert White, "residing, as it were, in a torrid zone, are always alert and merry: a good Christmas fire is to them like the heats of the dog days. Though they are frequently heard by day, yet is their natural time of motion only at night. As soon as it grows dusk, the chirping increases, and they come running forth. As one should suppose, from the burning atmosphere which they inhabit, they are a thirsty race, and show a great propensity for liquids; being found frequently, drowned in pans of water, milk, broth, or the like. Whatever is moist they affect;

they are the

house-wife's barometer, foretelling her when it will rain; and are prognostic sometimes, she thinks, of ill or good luck; of the death of a near relation, or the approach of an absent lover. By being the constant companions of her solitary hours, they naturally become the objects of her superstition. These crickets are not only very thirsty, but very voracious. In the summer we have observed them to fly, when it became dusk, out of the windows, and over the neighbouring roofs. This feat of activity accounts or the sudden manner in which they often leave their haunts, as it does for the method in which they come to houses where they were not

*

known before. It is remarkable, that many insects seem never to use their wings but when they have a mind to shift their quarters, and settle new colonies. When in the air, they move “volatu undoso,” in waves or curves, like woodpeckers, opening and shutting their wings at every stroke; and so are always rising or sinking. When they increase to a great degree, as they did once in the house where I am now writing, they become noisome pests, flying into the candles, and dashing into people's faces; but may be blasted and destroyed by gunpowder dis. charged into their crevices and crannies. In families, at such times, they are, like Pharaoh's plague of frogs, " in their bed-chambers and upon their beds; in their ovens and in their kneading troughs.”* Their thrilling noise is occasioned by a brisk attrition of their wings. Cats catch hearth-crickets, and playing with them as they do with mice, devour them.

"Crickets," concludes this practical naturalist, "may be destroyed, like wasps, by phials half filled with any liquid, set in their haunts; for being always eager to drink, they will crowd in till the bottles are full." To destroy the "merry cricket" will, however, seldom be considered desirable; since the increase of that favourite household insect, is very rarely such as to occasion anything like serious inconve

nience."

About this period of the year, the viper, the common snake, and some other reptiles, betake themselves to those winter quarters, in which they pass the cold months in a torpid condition, resembling that of sleep; from which state of inactivity they are, in due season, aroused by the reviving influence of the returning spring.

The common garden snail, (Helix hortensis), also prepares for the winter, by retiring to the crevices of rocks, or to other similar hiding places. “The shell-less snails called slugs," writes the Naturalist of Selborne, " are in motion all the winter in mild weather, and commit great depredations on garden plants, and much injure the green wheat; while the shelled snail not only lays itself up, pretty early in autumn, in places secure from frost, but also throws out, round the mouth of its shell, a thick operculum, formed of its own saliva; so that it is perfectly secured, and corked up, as it were, from all inclemencies.” Some of these garden snails are observed to be, to a certain degree, gregarious; in consequence, as it has been thought, of their eggs usually being laid in clusters, and of the young ones, when hatched, betaking themselves, for food, to such suitable plants as happen to be nearest at

* Exodus, viii. 3.