crocus.

The singularity of this flower consists in its blooming in autumn, while its leaves and fruit appear in the spring following. About the end of October the flower dies away, and no one, on looking at the plant, would observe any indication of its seeds. Yet these lie buried in the bulb while winter snows are around and above it; but when the sun and showers of spring bring forward the early flowers of the meadow, the seeds rise up, ripen during summer, and in autumn produce the saffron flower. The colchicum is a powerful medicine. No cattle will touch the fresh plant; and the idea that it is fatal to dogs originated its French name of morte aux chiens. It probably, when made into hay, loses some of its noxious property, for it is very abundant on the high lands of Italy, and is regularly cut down, on the Alpine pastures, with the summer grass. With us it grows pretty generally on the pasture-lands of the north-western counties.

OCTOBER.

"Let me quit this spot,

And roam where Nature sheds a parting smile:
As yet the blue-bells linger on the sod

That copes the sheepfold ring; and in the woods
A second blow of many flowers appears,

Flowers faintly tinged, and breathing no perfume.
But fruits, not blossoms, form the woodland wreath
That circles autumn's brow; the ruddy haws

Now clothe the half-leaved thorn; the bramble bends
Beneath its jetty load; the hazel hangs

With auburn branches, dipping in the stream
That sweeps along, and threatens to o'erflow
The leaf-strewn banks."

JAMES GRAHAME.

The brown October is more fertile in fruits

than in flowers, and the wild nosegay gathered now is, indeed, a small one. Yet the pastoral landscape has not lost its charms, for its grass is still bright and fresh. It is not the decrease of flowers alone, however, which warns of autumn. The trees are now yellow, red, or of a withered brown, with his touches. Some, like the ash, and the great white poplar, are daily dropping so many showers of leaves, that we are anticipating that their naked branches will soon stand boldly out on the landscape. The swallows are congregating for their departure to other and warmer lands; and the loud twittering which they make on the great oak, or elm, has, to the naturalist, a sound peculiarly autunnal. All at once we miss the sound, and they are gone; and we are reminded of the allusion made by the prophet Jeremiah to the migration of birds, and the melancholy comparison which he draws between the wild bird and the instructed man. 66 'Yea," says the prophet," the stork in the heaven knoweth her appointed times; and the crane and the swallow observe the time of their coming; but my people know not the judgment of the Lord.”* Alas! it is not alone to ancient Israel that the reproof belongs. The voice of nature, and the voice of Providence, and the voice of God's word, are still unheard by unthinking man!

The cultivated fruits of earth are now chiefly gathered in. The corn is brought into the garner, the fragrant hops are lying in the store

* Jer. viii.

house, the cherries are gathered and consumed, and the store of apples, destined for winter use, are either taken from the tree, or are ready for harvesting. But the wild berries grace the hedges by thousands, and glimmer among the rain-drops like jet and ruby mingled with crystal. The clear berries of the nightshade are outshone by the beautiful red clusters of the berries of the guelder rose, and contrast with the deep opaque red fruits of the bryony, or the more orange-tinted branches of the mountain ash. The scarlet haws and hips, the blackberries, the rose-tinted fruits of the spindle tree, lying open and displaying the bright orange-coloured seeds, are all plentiful now in the good greenwood; and when we consider the fruits of earth which are laid up for man, and mark the preparation of food for the fowls of heaven, may we not say with the psalmist, "Thou crownest the year with thy goodness?"

It has been observed of our native fruits, that white berries are commonly sweet, red ones sour; blue, of a sour, mixed with a sweet flavour; and black are either almost tasteless, or poisonous. But several of our scarlet berries are poisonous too, and should never be tasted by any who do not understand their properties.

The ivy, (Hedera helix,) which mantles over the old ruins, or climbs to the highest bough of the oak of the forest, is now displaying its clusters of green blossoms; and the bees which still venture to leave their retreats, when the morning sun shines out brightly, seem highly

to prize them. The French term this plant la lierre, and the Spaniards give the name of yedra, not only to the ivy, but to every plant which, like this, has a propensity to climb.

Sheep are very fond of ivy, and its greyveined leaves often yield them a winter repast. The Irish ivy, (Helix vegeta,) so often cultivated under the name of the giant ivy, has very large leaves; but in other respects differs little from our wild plant.

so.

The question, whether ivy is destructive to trees, has been much discussed by botanists, but it seems the general opinion, that it is not Loudon considers that the ivy is the only plant which may be reared against houses, without rendering the walls damp, and the sole objection to be raised against the picturesque covert which it affords to the house wall is, that it harbours spiders and other insects, which will sometimes find their way into the dwelling.

That very handsome shrub, the strawberry tree, or bear berry, (Arbutus unedo,) is now gay with its greenish white flowers, which hang among its thick evergreen foliage like so many waxen bells. This shrub is very common in gardens, but it is usually enumerated among our wild plants, for it has been known to grow for many centuries in the south of Ireland; some writers, however, think that it was introduced there from Spain, by the monks of Mucross Abbey; and when we consider how many flowers and shrubs, as well as esculent vegetables, were brought into Britain, for the

use of the monastery lands, this is not improbable. At the lake of Killarney, so often celebrated by the poets for its beautiful scenery, the arbutus grows in great plenty, and attains a considerable size, in the woods on the shores of the blue waters. The fruit of the tree is as large as the common hautboy, but of a much deeper crimson, and of a firmer substance; it is very ornamental to the tree, and it appears to have been a common article of food among the ancients, as it now is in Spain and Italy; yet Pliny says, the specific name of the plant is derived from unedo, I "eat one," because he who ate one would eat no more. Its name of arbutus is also from the Celtic words, ar boise, "austere bush," because of the nature of its berries; yet to many persons their flavour is agreeable. The Spaniards make of them a conserve, and the Irish peasant children gather them for sale, from the bushes of Killarney.

Two other kinds of arbutus belong to our wild plants: the trailing, or black bear-berry, (Arbutus alpina,) which grows on the bleak Highland mountains, and whose foliage in autumn is remarkably beautiful, from its deep yet bright crimson colour; and the red bearberry, (Arbutus uva ursi,) which is a common plant throughout the north of England, and on the Scottish Highlands. Its blossoms are of a deep rose colour; its berries smaller and more austere than those of the strawberry tree; and they afford excellent food for the moor-fowl.