nesses of his power and beneficence. The sea pours in her annual banquets, and myriads of seafowl resort to their inhospitable shores. Who does not recognize, in this wonderful arrangement, the hand of the supremely wise, of Him, who remembers the Smolonsko in his solitary dwelling, who thinks of the savage Samoide and blesses him; who forgets not the isolated Obeyan, last of men, on whom the light of true religion has never dawned, and who sees, as through a “darkened glass," the God, that has created and sustains him!

NOVEMBER.

"There is, who deems all climes, all seasons fair;
There is, who knows no restless passion's strife
Contentment, smiling at each idle care ;
Contentment, thankful for the gift of life.

"She finds in winter many a view to please;

The morning landscape fring'd with frost-work gay,
The sun at noon seen through the leafless trees,
The clear calm ether at the close of day."

SCOTT.

FOREST trees generally lose their leaves about the beginning or middle of this month; if the wind is high, and the frost becomes severe, the defoliation often suddenly takes place. The wood-walks are covered, in one night, with a deep rustling bed of leaves, and the naked branches display their elegant ramifications against the wintry sky.

The sycamore, and chesnut, lime and ash, first lose their foliage; the elm retains its verdure a little longer, the beech and oak later than the rest.

This gradation is very obvious in travelling from the richly-wooded plain of Evesham to the windy range of the Charford vales. The hills, that guard and shelter them, are covered with extensive beech-woods; these frequently exhibit a beautiful variety of rich mingling hues; while, in the vale, the trees, which principally consist of ash and elm, either standing singly or in groups, are bare of leaves.

Most of the late summer and early autumnal flowers are now gone, and a new race succeeds them on the sheltered garden-border. These are the mountain violet, and red stapelia, the sweet colt's-foot, pale gentian, althæa frutex, and late golden rod. They are not to us, and they never can be, as the sweet young flowers of the spring, as the primrose and the violet, or even as the peeping Nanny, and fair-maid of February: but we like to see them open to the winter's sun, they are a new and welcome race, their names do not awaken any lingering regrets, or mournfully remind us of past pleasures, and approaching storms

Some will tell you that November is a melancholy month, that the vegetable world is dead, and mute the tuneful; but to me there is music in the gusty wind, as it hurries the eddying leaves from out the sheltered nook and corner; there is also an indescribable feeling of delight in the breaking forth

of a clear invigorating sunshine after fog and rain, and the lighting up of the dripping landscape, when the bright green of the ivy, daphne, and holly, every blade of grass, and tuft of moss, stand forth in all the vividness and freshness of a new creation.

Very pleasant, too, is the November walk at noon, when the clouds fly before the wind, and the sun has warmed the fresh cool air. It is delightful also to tread upon the soft bed of rustling leaves, that cover the forest walks, to observe the folded sheep, that are now principally fed with turnips, and in sharp weather with hay-to see the labourers busily employed in hedging, or ploughmen eager to finish their work before the hard frost sets in; carts carrying marl, chalk, or clay, to spread abroad on light soils; and in orchards, the transplanting and pruning of fruittrees. Nor are the fields and hedges without, at least, one musician to enliven the labours of the husbandman.

The sharp twittering of little troops of joyous chaffinches, that congregate together at this season, is also heard in unison with the deep soft cooing of the wood-pigeon, the latest of the winter birds of passage, and the cheerful song of the grey

wren.

O! what lessons of patience and contentment

may be learned from these uncomplaining creatures! How often do their cheerful songs, in the hardest weather, when the snow lies deep upon the ground, reprove the anxious solicitude of distrustful man!

Behold, and look away your low despair;
See the light tenants of the barren air :

To them, nor stores, nor granaries belong,

Nought but the woodlands, and the pleasing song;
Yet, your kind heav'nly Father bends his eye
On the least wing that flits along the sky.

To Him they sing, when spring renews the plain-
To Him they cry, in winter's pinching reign;
Nor is their music, nor their plaint in vain :
He hears the gay, and the distressful call,
And with unsparing bounty fills them all.
Will He not care for you, ye faithless! say
Is He unkind? Or, are ye less than they?"

?

THOMSON.

There is also much in the present month to excite the attention of the naturalist, to lead him to consider by what a beautiful series of expedients, the great Creator provides for the security of the insect tribes.

Various species now quit their usual haunts, and betake themselves in search of safe hybernacula; some, indeed, defer this important movement till after the commencement of hard weather, but generally speaking, they are intent on securing