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appear; at one time, by the penetration of their radicles; at others, by modes we cannot detect, but which seem to loosen the fibrous adherence, or muscle of the substance, destroying all cohesion of the parts: the effectual manner in which these apparently feeble agents accomplish their destination is perfectly wonderful! What can look more harmless than the fine cotton of byssus septica, or some species of mucor? what more beautiful than stemonitis nuda, or auricularia cærulea? yet what rapid destruction ensues from their agency!

and thousands more unknown To us, appropriately fitted each, Undeviating act by will divine

In separate vocations herc. - Shooting and hunting are favourite: diversions in this month. The lawless poacher is now on the alert, and spreads his nets and lays his snares for game-and not unfrequently commences a career of guilt, which terminates in an ignominious end.

The following description of the poacher's miserable hovel, and the implements of his trade, is from the pen of Sir WALTER SCOTT:

Seek we yon glades, where the proud oak o'ertops :
Wide-waving seas of birch and hazel copse,
Leaving between deserted isles of land,
Where stunted heath is patched with ruddy sand;
And lonely on the waste the yew is seen,
Or straggling hollies spread a brighter green.
Here, little worn, and winding dark and steep,
Our scarce-marked path descends yon dingle deep:
Follow--but heedful, cautious of a trip,
In earthly mire philosophy may slip.
Step slow and wary o'er that swampy stream,
Till, guided by the charcoal's smothering steam,
We reach the frail yet barricadoed door
Of hovel formed for poorest of the poor;
No hearth the fire, no vent the smoke receives,
The walls are wattles, and the covering leaves;
Por, if such hut, our forest statutes say,
Rise in the progress of one night and day,
(Though placed where still the Conqueror's hests o'erawe,
And his son's stirrup shines the badge of law,)

The builder claims the unenviable boon,
To tenant dwelling, framed as slight and soon
As wigwam wild, that shrouds the native frore
On the bleak coast of frost-barred Labrador'.

Approach, and through th’unlatticed window peep-
Nay, sbrink not back, the inmate is asleep;
Sunk mid yon sordid blankets, till the sun
Stoop to the west, the plunderer's toils are done.
Loaded and primed, and prompt for desperate hand,
Rifle and fowling-piece beside him stand,
While round the hut are in disorder laid
The tools and booty of his lawless trade;
For force or fraud, resistance or escape,
The crow, the saw, the bludgeon, and the crape.
His pilfered powder in yon nook he hoards,
And the filched lead the church's roof affords
(Hence shall the rector's congregation fret,
That while his sermon's dry, his walls are wet.)
The fish-spear barbed, the sweeping net are there,
Doe-hides, and pheasant plumes, and skins of hare,
Cordage for toils, and wiring for the spare.
Bartered for game from chace or warren won,
Yon cask holds moonlight 2, run when moon was none;
And late-snatched spoils lie stowed in hutch apart,

To wait th' associate higgler's evening cart 3. October is the great month for brewing beer, whence the name applied to very stong beer of OLD OCTOBER. In this month also is the great potatoe harvest. The corn harvest being over, the stonepickers go out again.

The sowing of wheat is generally completed in this month : when the weather is too wet for this occupation, the farmer ploughs up the stubble fields for winter fallows. Acorns are sown at this season, and the planting of forest and fruit trees takes place.

The vintage or harvest of grapes, almost as im

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· Such is the law in the New Forest, Hampshire, tending greatly to increase the various settlements of thieves, smugglers, and deer-stealers who infest it. In the forest courts the presiding judge wears as a badge. of office an antique stirrup, said to have been that of William Rufus, See Mr. William Rose's spirited poem, entitled 'The Red King.'

* A cant name for smuggled spirits. 3 Sir Walter Scott's Bridal of Triermain and other Poems, p. 163.

portant to foreigners as the corn harvest is to us, takes place in October, and the vineyards of France, Germany, Switzerland, Italy, &c. &c. now resound with the cheerful songs of the peasantry, at the conclusion of their labours. In many parts of France, particularly in Champagne, the men and women, each with a basket on their arm, assemble at the foot of the hill; there stopping, they arrange themselves in a circle. The chief of this band tunes up a joyous song, whose burthen is chorused: then they ascend, and, dispersed in the vineyard, they work without interrupting their tasks, while new couplets often resound from some of the vine-dressers, sometimes intermixed with a sudden jest at a traveller. In the evening, their supper scarcely over, their joy recommences; they dance in a circle, and sing some of those songs of free gaiety, which the moment excuses, known by the name of vineyard songs. The gaiety becomes general; masters, guests, friends, servants, all dance together; and in this manner a day of labour terminates, which one might mistake for a day of diversion.

Turn we a moment fancy's rapid flight
To vigorous soils, and climes of fair extent;
Where, by the potent sun elated high,
The vineyard swells refulgent on the day;
Spreads o'er the vale; or up the mountain climbs,
Profuse; and drinks amid the sunny rocks,
From cliff to cliff increased, the heightened blaze.
Low bend the weighty boughs. The clusters clear,
Half through the foliage seen, or ardent flame,
Or shine transparent; wbile perfection breathes
White o'er the turgent film the living dew,
As thus they brighten with exalted juice,
Touched into flavour by the mingling ray;
The rural youth and virgins o'er the field,
Each fond for each to call th'autumnal prime,
Exulting rove, and speak the vintage nigh.
Then comes the crushing swain; the country floats,
And foams unbounded with the mashy flood;
That by degrees fermented and refined,
Round the raised nations pours the cup of joy:

The claret smooth, red as the lip we pressi
In sparkling fancy, while we drain the bowl;
The mellow-tasted burgundy; and quick,

As is the wit it gives, the gay champagne. ' THOMSON. The festival of the vine-dressers, celebrated once in five years, is thus described as it took place at Vevay, in Swisserland, on the 24th and 25th of August 1819. The concourse of spectators was extraordinary. It consisted of a kind of scenic representation, analogous to the occupation of those who offered it; a motley. mixture of Bible personages, with the deities of antient mythology. Noah, for instance, was associated with Bacchus, and each had his squad of attendant Bacchantes: Ceres and Pallas also found their places, and figured in cars worthy of such goddesses, amidst a joyous crowd of vine-dressers crowned with festoons of vine-leaves and bunches of grapes, in the characters of dancing satyrs and exhilarated fauns. The dresses were rich, diversified, picturesque, and characteristic; the va- . rious actions were executed with gaiety and grace, at least, equal to their precision; and those who were not too well read in the classics might easily fancy themselves transported a couple of thousand of years backwards into the days of antiquity, when the deities really did appear on Mount Olympus, and when the shepherds of Arcadia were really those charming and simple and joyous swains, of whom we read so much, but know, alas! so little.

· As the month of October is usually spent by the sea-side, we will complete our series of marine views with a' Picture of the Océan' by Barry Cornwall;— perhaps the most beautiful passage yet written by that author, and worthy of the highest name in the records of poetry:

O thou vast OCEAN! ever sounding Sea !
Thou symbol of a drear immensity!

Thou thing that windest round the solid world Like a hugh animal, which, downward hurled From the black clouds, lies weltering and alone, Lashing and writhing till its strength be gone. Thy voice is like the thunder, and thy sleep Is as a giant's slumber, load and deep. Thou speakest in the east and in the west At once, and on thy heavily laden breast Fleets come and go, and shapes that have no life Or motion yet are moved and meet in strife. The earth hath nought of this ; no chance por change Rufies its surface, and no spirits dare Give answer to the tempest-waken air; But o'er its wastes the weakly tenants range At will, and wound its bosom as they go: Ever the same, it hatb no ebb, no flow; But in their stated rounds the seasons come, And pass like visions to their viewless home, And come again, and vanish : the young Spring Looks ever bright with leaves and blossoming, And Winter always winds his sollen horn, When the wild Autumn with a look forlorn Dies in his stormy manhood; and the skies Weep, and flowers sicken when the Summer flies.

Thou only, terrible Ocean, hast a power,
A will, a voice, and in thy wrathful hour,
When thou dost lift thine anger to the clouds,
A fearful and magnificent beauty shrouds
Thy broad green forehead. If thy waves be driven
Backwards and forwards by the shifting wind,
How quickly dost thou thy great strength unbind,
And stretch thine arms, and war at once with Heaven !

Thou trackless and immeasurable Main!
On thee no record ever lived again
To meet the hand that writ it: line nor lead
Hath ever fathomed thy profoundest deeps,
Where haply the huge monster swells and sleeps,
King of his watery limit, who'tis said
Can move the mighty ocean into storm
Oh! wonderful thou art, great element;
And fearful in thy spleeny humours bent,
And lovely in repose: thy snmmer form
Is beautiful, and when thy silver waves
Make music in earth's dark and winding caves,
I love to wander on thy pebbled beach,
Marking the sunlight at the evening hour,
And hearken to the thoughts thy waters teach

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