Canst thou perish in a cloud?
Are the winds so fresh and loud,
Weaving mirth above thy pain?—
Lo! a gloomy sorrow flies
O'er the forehead of the skies,
And o'er ocean dark and deep,
Where the wild sea-natures sleep,—
Those great children of the billows,
Tumbling on their restless pillows!
Summer, Summer, art thou gone?
Is the Autumn pale alone,

With her crown of faithless leaves,-
Like a widow queen, who grieves
O'er her bands of courtiers fled,
And her love and music dead?
Heed it never, Summer fair!
Thou no longer needest care
For the birth or death of flow'rs,
Nor lament the sullen hours;
Nor the heedless buds that perish,
Howsoever thou dost cherish;

Nor the rose who will decay,
Though thou fondly sighest, Stay!'
Kissing her perfumed lips,

While the broad Apollo dips
In the waves his burning hair :-
Mourn not, therefore, Summer fair!

If the jealous rose who died

Could have been thy deathless bride,
Or the lady lily pale

Had not been so false and frail ;-
If the trees their gold had never
Flung into the brawling river,

That its hoarse tongue might not say
When they with the winds did play,
Thou might'st then have had sad reason
To complain, sweet Summer season!
But they fled-the leaves, the flow'rs;
And the illuminated hours
First survived and then decayed,
And in shrouded mists are laid.

Yet they all shall come again,
Summer sweet, and thou shalt reign
Like a god beneath the sky;
And the thousand worlds that lie
In their bluest homes shall shine,
When thou drinkest thy red wine;

And the soft west winds shall come,
Bearing all their courtier treasures,
When at ev'ning thou dost roam,
Taking thy immortal pleasures
With some bud or lily young,
Which the sky shall then have flung
On a green bank or a dell
Of sun-coloured asphodel.

Then shalt thou once more resume
Odour, strength, and all thy bloom
Of beauty, and regain thy pow'rs
Over the time-enchanted hours!

B. C.

Hips and haws now ornament the hedges. The berries of the bryony and the privet; the barberry, the blackberry, the holly, and the elder, from which an excellent winter wine may be made-with sloes, bullaces, and damsons, are now in great plenty.Blackberries also are ripe in this month, and the collecting of them affords an agreeable pastime to the younger branches of the peasant's family, as well as some small profit to the parents. These are the fruits of the poor; they who are more highly favoured with the gifts of fortune revel on the patrician peach and nectarine, the pine, and the grape, whose purple clusters contrast so beautifully with the dazzling white of the silver epergne. But these transient pleasures, -the rose-crowned bowl,-the smiles of beauty, and music's enchanting voice,-soon, too soon, flit away from our grasp, and leave us nothing but the memories of a former day, those blossoms of the past.' Human life, indeed, may not inaptly be compared to A young vine, whose tendrils lone Embrace some hero's funeral stone: Fixed in a fatal soil, it pines,

Even whilst the season sweetest shines;
In vain the wind, the sun, the dew,
Its weeping beauty would renew;
Faithful to death, its leaf defies

The light of suns and balm of skies;
The lively colours are defaced;
The boughs run verdantly to waste;
Every day more faint and frail,
It wears in the caressing gale ;

Hour by hour the wan leaves strewing,
Hour by hour it hastes to ruin;
Aud soon its little life is spent
Upon the warlike monument.

WIFFEN'S Julia Alpinula.

'During the months of October, November, and December, at the fall of the leaf, insects become less numerous, but many of the Hemiptera may be found in woods, by beating the ferns and underwood, also many very beautiful Tinea and Tortrices; and aquatic insects may be taken in ponds, in great numbers. Roots of grass, decayed trees, &c. may again be resorted to.'-Samouelle's Introduction to British Entomology, p. 316.

October, like the preceding month, is generally spent by the sea-side, or in travelling over the varied surface of the United Kingdom. The lakes of Cumberland are an object of great attraction to the lover of the picturesque; the Highlands of Scotland also have a strong claim on his notice, and are frequently visited by our tourists in search of the sublime and romantic scenery of Nature. Scotland, indeed, is eminently entitled to our attention; and whether we take a trip by steam to the modern Athens,' and return by the land-route through the northern counties of England, or extend our journey, and sail on the placid bosom of Loch Katrine, or climb the Alpine heights of Ben Nevis, we shall be amply repaid for the fatigue and expense of the tour. Should any of our friends be tempted to visit the land of cakes,' they will probably meet, in some of its retired villages, with the original of the following minute and pleasing description of the domicile of

The VILLAGE DOCTOR.

The window-sash with gay green foliage bound,
Sweet eglantine and woodbine twining round;
A wooden clock conspicuous meets the view,
That ceaseless ticks, and hourly calls 'cuckoo !'
In wicker cage, a captive skylark sings,

Hops up and down, and plumes his useless wings.

That open cupboard, in the corner placed,
With boxes, gallipots, and phials graced,
By Peter termed the Magazine of Health,

Has proved the mine from whence he draws his wealth: (Without diploma Peter plies his hand,

And scatters fate and physic o'er the land);

Here, with'ring herbs on cords suspended swing,
There, rhubarb roots are dangling in a string;
While crocus flow'rs with marigolds are laid,
And camomile, to shrivel in the shade;
Hot pungent seeds and bitter herbs abound,
The spoils of Nature scattered all around.
That deal-board shelf supports the scanty store
From whence he draws his literary lore,-
Culpeper, Ray, Lightfoot, and Sir John Hill,
All duly studied for botanic skill;

While Wesley's recipes teach physic's trade,
And Tippermalloch comes to Buchan's aid;
With pond'rous folios, now forgot by Fame,
And authors deemed unlawful once to name,
On alchymy, with hocus-pocus rules

By knavish charlatans and dreaming fools.
On shelf below, a quarto Bible's seen,

With brazen clasps, and clothed in flannel green:

On page the first, the date recorded stands

When he and Nell were joined in wedlock's bands;
And there the register of births is found

Of those who have their nuptial fondness crowned.
Botanic plates are pasted on the walls,

With horoscopes and hieroglyphic scrawls;

A badger, stuffed, stands grinning on the floor;
A rusty musket leans behind the door,

Which, after autumn, in this lonely spot,
Still brings him something for his Sunday's pot;
For hares are plenty, partridges abound,

And wild-ducks in the neighb'ring lake are found:
There stands his angling-rod, with line and hook,
Which drags the guileless victim from the brook.
Here hangs a fiddle from a rusty nail;

There waves a feather from a peacock's tail:
On paper pinned, gay butterflies are seen,
Erewhile light floating o'er the meadow green-
Their velvet wings still seeming to unfold
In glowing purple and resplendent gold;
The dragon-fly, with wings extended, shines;
In crystal case, the speckled viper twines;
The mantel-piece with petrifactions groans,
With min'rals, fossils, shells, and lunar stones:

Right in the centre stands a staring owl,

Perched on a stuccoed monk, with sable cowl.

A rude bench, raised above the window sill,

Will feast your eyes, your brain with fragrance fill ;—
There pots and broken pipkins, placed in rows,

A mimic green-house to the sight disclose,
Where summer wantons in perennial bloom,
And mingling odours shed their rich perfume.

The above lines are taken from Characters omitted in Crabbe's Parish Register, by Alexander Balfour,' author of Contemplation, and other Poems,' and of the very pleasing Poetical Address,' prefixed to our last volume. These Sketches' we do not hesitate strongly to recommend to the attention of our readers; they exhibit great poetical powers, a fine taste, and a keen perception of the beauties of Nature;-as well as an accurate knowledge of the manners and habits of humble life-and very considerable tact in appreciating the merits and pointing out the defects of those 'Characters' which the poet has so admirably described. Mr. Balfour's book forms an excellent supplement to Mr. Crabbe's Tales,' and deserves to stand on the same shelf with the interesting poems of that excellent writer.

NOUEMBER.

THIS was named, as the preceding months, according to the station which it occupied in the Romulean calendar; it was the 9th. Diana was its tutelar divinity. The festival of Isis was observed on the 1st of this month, and on the 5th, the Neptunalia. The sign Sagittarius was appropriated to it, denoting the rain which falls in this month, and the hail which shoots like arrows.