WITH what an interest have we watched so far, the progress of the seasons. The keen blasts, the snows and frosts, of January; the cold drenching rains and unpleasant thaws of February; then in March, came the first real touches of spring, followed by the pleasant month of April, when the birds and insects and small field animals were all most busy; and then the merry months of May and June, ushering in full blown summer with all the delights of rich July. We have had the time for the sowing of seed, the warm fructifying rains of summer; and now that time of gathering in is come.
Yes, as one has beautifully said Harvest-time is here! It has seemed long in coming, but when we look back, we could almost think it was only yesterday that we saw in many fields nothing but strait rows of short, green blades, like grass, which were the promise of all this golden wealth of full ripe corn. Yes, it is harvest time; and the summer is passing. All around us we see the proofs of the change: leaves withering, flowers fading, and fruits and seeds ripening; summer birds going, others coming, and few singing. Old age is stealing on the year and we think how very soon it will depart, and another-a “New year "-come, with spring flowers, leaves, and songs.
But now how full of blessing is the year that is passing! What riches are spread on every side of us! These fruits, this corn-God has sent them to us, and our hearts should be thankful;
"To all, what best His wisdom knows,
The bounty of our God bestows.
From all, to whom such good He gives-
But most from him who most receives-
In acts of kindness, peace, and love
To men, of praise to Him above;
He claims, of what He gives, a part;
From all, at least, a thankful heart,
Which, bending low before His throne,
The GIVER in the gifts will own.”
Perhaps the very want of the songs of joy and praise, which we loved in spring, will help us to remember what thanks and love we owe. Certain it is that august is the most silent month of all the twelve. The young birds do indeed try their feeble throats, and make a low, whispered warbling; and now and then a linnet or a goldfinch, in its delight at finding a fine cluster of thistle-heads, with the seeds all ready to float away when the evening breeze rises, will pipe a little bit of its spring song; or a swallow, a chaffinch, yellowhammer, or willow-wren, will twitter or chirp; but these notes only make us take more notice of the general silence.
However, there is one songster who, after a short rest in July, now takes up its part again, and almost startles us by the suddenness with which on calm evenings it begins its cheerful, homelike strain; for it is our favorite English bird-robin redbreast.
You will like to read these verses, which seem to tell exactly what he says now:
"Unheard in summer's flaring ray,
Pour forth thy notes, sweet singer,
Wooing the stillness of the autumn day:
Bid it a moment linger,
Nor fly
Too soon from Winter's scowling eye.
"The blackbird's song at eventide,
And hors, who gay ascends,
Filling the heavens far and wide,
Are sweet. But none so blends
As thine,
With al a decay and peace divine.”
More and more our summer birds depart. The swift is gone by the middle of the month, the cuckoo and the nightjar, also; and we miss many which haunted our garden, those which remain appearing very shy. The three kinds of swallows do not leave yet; and they are very numerous, because all the first broods are now on the wing. The old birds are busied with their second families; and sometime a droll contention may be witnessed: for one of the first family will all at once recollect the nest in which it was reared, and make a dash at it to get in; and the old birds, who are very matter-of-fact bodies, and by no means approve such indications of filial love, will fall upon their too sentimental child, and teach it more swallow-like conduct for the future, by most ungentle pecks and pushes!
The young birds of all kinds may be seen in the fields, farmyards, and gardens; for their fresh-looking plumage and light-colored beaks, and a kind of unknowing way of perching after a flight, make them very distinct from the worn, dusty-feathered, cunning old ones.
About the quadrupeds and reptiles which live wild in England, I have nothing to tell you; unless it be, that the mole-hills may be seen again, now that the grass and the corn are cleared away, and that shrew mice are often found this month, in great numbers, dead in the fields, without any marks to show how they died.
It is to the fruits and seeds, however, that we must look for signs of the harvest-season. The honeysuckle berries and the blackberries are ripe; the nuts of the beech and hazel are ready to fall, and those of the horse-chestnut, with acorns; and the “keys " of the ash, maple, and sycamore, are preparing to follow them. Besides those I named last month, the berries of the elder, holly, dogwood, and lords-and-ladies, are ripening, The scarlet, pulpy berries of the yew, each with a drop of resinous honey in the hollow of it, are also ripe.
This is the best reason for observing the various contrivances for preserving and scattering the seeds of plants, because they are now more plentiful. Some seeds are contained in long-pods, as in the pea, turnip, and water-cress; some are covered with juicy pulp, like the apple and pear; others, besides the pulp, have a stout shell, like the plum and peach; some seed-vessels, as in the strawberry, are on the outside of the pulp; others have shells without any pulp, like the nut, or are set close together, as if in a dish, like those of the sunflower; but I cannot tell you the one-thousandth part of the different ways in which they are kept till they ripen. And then there are all the plans to scatter them; some seed-vessels having hooks, by which they fix themselves to anything passing, and are carried off; others a tuft of down by which they sail far away from the place where they grew; and others, as in the maple, a kind of wing which helps them to fly to some distance.
The gardens are beginning to lose their beauty but the asters and dahlias, zinnias, coreopsis, chrysanthemums, and winter cherry, are coming into flower. The laurustinus and wood-laurel often flower again now. The orchard is, however, in all its glory of ripe fruit-peaches, nectarines, apricots, various kinds of plum, and the earlier apples and pears. Our out-door grapes, also, become as ripe as they can here. It is wheat and barley-harvest, and beans and oats are cut; hops are ready for picking, and the chief toil of the year for the farmer is brought to an end.