"Thou o'er the shrines of fallen gods,
On classic plains, dost mantling spread,
And veil the desolate abodes
And cities of the dead;
Deserted palaces of kings,

Arches of triumph, long o'erthrown;
And all once-glorious earthly things,
At length are thine alone."

A stray sprig of honeysuckle may still be gathered; the strawberry tree, gay with greenish white flowers, suspends them among its thick evergreen foliage like waxen bells; the shepherd's spikenard shows its yellow star-shaped flower and hairy leaves on the long stalks by which they are supported on the chalky or clayey pastures on which it abounds. The second bloom of the purple violet is also detected under its broad canopy of leaves, and the pretty bright yellow flower of the dwarf green wood does not fail to be admired. Even the hare or heath-bell has not entirely left us, and its blue petals dance on the hill-side and the down land with every breeze that passes. The duration of the beauties of the waning year depends much on the weather, and though they sometimes vanish in October, a fine autumnal scene is occasionally observable in the beginning of November, when we

"Catch the last smile

Of autumn beaming o'er the yellow woods." But though many of the charms of the landscape have departed, before the rigour of winter set in, there are often days of such delightful temperature that the weariness of winter is hardly to be realized. Thomson thus describes a day of this kind:

"The morning shines

Serene, in all it dewy beauties bright,
Unfolding fair the last autumnal day.
O'er all the soul its sacred influence breathes,
Inflames imagination, through the breast
Infuses every tenderness, and far

Beyond dim earth exalts the swelling thought."

But the chilly morn and hasty twilight remind us of the close of summer scenes, and that fair autumn's mellow reign will soon be ended:

"The flush of the landscape is o'er,

The brown leaves are shed on the way,
The dye of the lone mountain flower
Grows wan, and betokens decay;
The spring in our valleys is born,
Like the bud that it fosters, to die,
Like the transient dews of the morn,

Or the vapour that melts in the sky."

The feathered races undergo considerable change during this month. The swallow tribes leave the country, following the swift, who disappeared a month ago; and now the house and sand martin, after congregating in vast flocks about

If

the banks of rivers and other places, are seen no more till spring re-appears. one or two are seen during the warm days that sometimes occur, we regret their presence; for they are strangers and wanderers, and convey to the mind the idea of a desolateness which is by no means pleasant. In exchange for the loss that has been sustained, flocks of fieldfares and redwings arrive, accompanied by snipes, woodcocks, and several of the tribes of waterfowl.

A remarkable assemblage of swallows took place at Rotherham in the year 1815, and the vicar of that place informs us of the circumstances attending this immense concourse: "Gradually collecting together, they formed a vast flock, comprising more than could possibly be numbered, and such as to impress the mind with the idea that the whole of the swallow race had been collected together. Arising every morning, their masses darkened the air, and then falling into different divisions they flew in various directions, returning as evening approached, and continuing the assemblage till it was nearly dark. In the interval they went through a thousand aerial evolutions, as if strengthening their pinions in these playful feats for the long journey before them, while the countless sounds that twittered forth from their little throats, impressed all who heard with a conviction of their happiness. The notes of those who had already gained the willows sounded like the murmur of a distant waterfall, or the roar of the retreating billow on the seabeach." At length the mighty army broke up its encampments, and covering the sky with its legions, they took their trackless course, directed by an unerring guide.

The swallow appears to be a general favourite. Sir Humphrey Davy declared that it rivalled the nightingale, for it cheered his sight as much as the other did his sense of hearing. "He is the glad prophet," said he, "of the yearthe harbinger of the best season: he lives a life of enjoyment amongst the loveliest forms of nature: winter is unknown to him; and he leaves the green meadows of England, in autumn, for the myrtle and orange groves of Italy, and for the palms of Africa." The soft and sweet warble of the swallow has often pleased us on a summer's eve, nor have we failed to notice the attention it pays to its young; yet the law of migration is so powerful, that these birds have been

As the evenings contract, the clear, bright flame of the fire is sought, and many pleasures connected with wintry scenes are renewed; and where unity and love preside in the family, the pure and highest enjoyments of home are experienced. Here instructive occupations strengthen the intellectual powers, and elevate the tastes, while innocent recreation will enliven and gratify the mind,

"The poet's or historian's page, by one

Made vocal for the amusement of the rest;

The sprightly lyre, whose treasure of sweet sounds
The touch from many a trembling chord shakes
out;

And the clear voice symphonious, yet distinct,
And in the charming strife triumphant still;
Beguile the night."

As the month hastens to a close, little will now be experienced of the warmth of the sun, and the effects on nature will be proportionate in the exchange of verdant beauty for barrenness. No longer will the trees be seen rich in blossom, or gay with verdure; the magnificence of summer, displayed in a thousand variations of colour, whose richness was relieved by the beautiful green of the meadows and waving groves, is no more; the purple hue of the vine is gone, and the gilded ears no longer adorn the landscape. The last leaves of the trees are now falling; the pines, the elms, and the oaks bend beneath the blast of the fierce wind; and the fields, which have lavished on us so many gifts, appear at length exhausted.

Yet in the midst of scenes in themselves tending to depress the mind below the position it ought to retain, we should not overlook the faithfulness with which nature fulfils the laws under which it is controlled. Though on the approach of winter, the country appears stripped of many of its most pleasing ornaments, it still affords reason for happiness. Gratitude will be excited as the mind dwells on the fact that the dry fields now appearing were covered with harvests that the corn which delighted us has been gathered into the garner, to supply the wants of man and beast-and that though now the orchards and gardens are barren of fruit, multitudes enjoyed their rich and ample produce. The grass of the meadows is withered, dark clouds gather in the sky, and the rain falls in such heavy showers, as to impair the roads and render walking impracticable, but the man who appreciates nature

pure gratification in the objects which remain, and especially in the consideration, that though the earth has lost many external beauties, yet its labours are being busily, though secretly plied for the future good of creation. F.S.W.

ENGLAND-A SKETCH.

"I HAVE been in England," says Dr. Merle D'Aubigné, "I have seen in her great manufacturing cities the miracles of that activity which covers the whole world with the productions of a petty island in Europe. In the ports of London, of Liverpool, and other places, I have gazed upon those floating isles, those thousands of masts which bear afar over every sea the riches and power of the nation.

I have admired in Scotland a simple, energetic, and active people, ready to sacrifice everything rather than abandon Christ and his word. I have been present at the debates of the parliament of the three kingdoms, and I have admired that eloquence, which, not content with words, goes right to the heart of the matter, and impels the nation onwards in its great destinies. I have found everywhere, from the lower classes of the people to the exalted stations of nobles and princes, an enthusiastic love of liberty. I have wandered through those halls from which are conveyed to the four quarters of the world Bibles printed in every known language. I have prayed in the churches, and at the religious meetings have been transported by the powerful eloquence of the speakers and the acclamations of the audience. I have found in the families a morality comparatively greater than in other countries; and pious customs, both private and public, more generally prevalent. I have been struck with admiration at beholding the people of those islands encompassing the globe, bearing every where civilization and Christianity, commanding in the most distant seas, and filling the earth with the power and the word of God.

"At the sight of such prosperity and greatness, I said, 'Ascribe ye strength unto God; his excellency is over Israel, and his strength is in the clouds. O God, thou art terrible out of thy holy places! the God of Israelis he that giveth strength and power unto his people. . . . Blessed be God!' This is the work of the Re

know what is passing in the world, and how much time do they spend in talking about that which brings them no profit. The things of time and sense engage their attention, to the utter neglect of those which belong to their eternal interests. It is rare, indeed, that one meets with a companion, either by railway, or in the streets or highways, or by the fireside, who is half so earnest in inquiring the way to heaven, or about the things which belong to the salvation of the soul, as they are solicitous of knowing what is passing in the world. With what zest do men converse on passing, and even trifling events, but how coldly do they talk, at all, if they talk, on subjects connected with religion. Well has it been said that man is ignorant of his real greatness. In spite of all the preacher has said, in spite of all that has been written for the instruction of mankind, and

"In spite of all the truth the muse has sung, Are there who wrap the world so close about them :

They see no farther than the clouds, and dance On heedless vanity's fantastic toe,

Till, stumbling at a straw in their career, Headlong they plunge where end both dance and song?

Are there on earth-let me not call them men-
Who lodge a soul immortal in their breasts;
Unconscious as the mountain of its ore,
Or rock of its inestimable gem?"

There are, and I am afraid old Gundy is one of them. He loves this world, and thinks not of that which is to come; that which should be uppermost in the thoughts, not only of himself, but of all mankind.

Old Gundy is not singular in his love of the world; he may display it in a different manner to many people, but the world is sufficient for most men. It seems especially sufficient for my neighbour, Mr. P-, for he displays his love of it in a manner still more marked than old Gundy.

Mr. P― is a constant traveller by the railway, and he never enters the train but for a specific purpose. He is going to London in order to seek an increase of wealth. Rich though he is, he still wants more. The heart, when set on riches, is never so happy as when seeking it; all that is in the coffers of the rich man, who has a love of money, does not give half the satisfaction to the mind, as does a single guinea gained to add to the store possessed.

Mr. P is a large corn-factor, who is engaged from morning to night, from the first to the last day of the year, in buying

If old

and selling and getting gain. Gundy has ever asked him how the cornmarket went, he could tell him to a fraction. There is not a market-town within many miles of his residence where his name is not known; and there is not a farmer who brings corn to these markets, of whom he has not purchased. He has gold at command for his purpose, and his granaries are large enough to contain a stock sufficient to astonish the beholder. If one could peep in them even in this time of dearth, there is no doubt but sack after sack would be seen heaped up therein. But why does he not open his granary-doors, and send his stock to market? Will he keep it till half of it is consumed by the rats and the mice? No, no; Mr. P— is too wise for that. He only waits till the markets are "up," and depend upon it, he will send it away again; and even to the very markets from whence he purchased it. This is his mode of living, and you cannot be in his company, even in a railway carriage, without discovering it. His one topic of conversation is the corn-market, and how happy have I seen him, on his return from Mark-lane, when, by a fortunate rise in the article of food, he has made some few more hundreds of pounds. At such seasons my fancy has left the railway-carriage with a speed swifter by far than the train passed on, and has roamed among the dwellings of the poor, not only in town, but in the country, and has seen faces on which want and sorrow were indelibly stamped. What a contrast between them and that of Mr. P-! it would almost seem that the lines of happiness once visible in their faces were transferred to his: that the happiness of many was concentrated into one. But I do not charge Mr. P with cruelty; trade is a legitimate pursuit, and if conducted in an upright manner, may be pursued without injury to character or our eternal interests. I have no doubt he pursues it in this manner. He does not buy corn to throw away, or to keep it from the mouths of the community; he buys and sells it to get gold. But can gold bring solid happiness to man? Wealth is vanity:

"High-built abundance, heaps on heaps! for what?
To breed new wants, and beggar us the more;
Then make a richer scramble for the throng.
Soon as this feeble pulse, which leaps so long,
Almost by miracles, is tired with play,
Like rubbish from disploding engines thrown,
Our magazines of hoarded trifles fly-
Fly diverse; fly to foreigners, to foes.

New masters court, and call the former fool,
(How justly!) for dependence on their stay;
Wide scatter first our play-things, then our dust.
Much learning shows how little mortals know;
Much wealth how little mortals can enjoy :
At best it babies us with endless toys,
And keeps us children till we drop to dust."
YOUNG.

Reader, make a wiser choice than Mr. P. "Lay not up for yourselves treasures upon earth, where moth and rust doth corrupt, and where thieves break through and steal: but lay up for yourselves treasures in heaven, where neither moth nor rust doth corrupt, and where thieves do not break through nor steal," Matt. vi. 19, 20.

PERILS OF THE SEA.

E. F.

To prevent the ships separating during the fog, says sir J. C. Ross, referring to a cruise in the frozen waters, it was necessary to keep fast to the heavy piece of ice which we had between them as a fender. and with a reduced amount of sail on them, we made some way through the pack. As we advanced in this novel mode to the south-west, we found the ice became more open, and the westerly swell increasing as the wind veered to the N.w. at midnight, we found it impossible any longer to hold on by the floe piece. All our hawsers breaking in succession, we made sail on the ships, and kept company during the thick fog by firing guns, and by means of the usual signals. Under the shelter of a berg of nearly a mile in diameter, we dodged about during the whole day, waiting for clear weather, that we might select the best lead through the dispersing pack; but at 9 P.M. the wind suddenly freshened to a violent gale from the northward, compelling us to reduce our sails to a close reefed main-top-sail and storm staysails. The sea quickly rising to a fearful height, breaking over the loftiest bergs, we were unable any longer to hold our ground, but were driven into the heavy pack under our lee.

Soon after midnight our ships were involved in an ocean of rolling fragments of ice, hard as floating rocks of granite, which were dashed against them by the waves with so much violence that their masts quivered as if they should fall at every successive blow; and the destruction of the ships seemed inevitable from the tremendous shocks they received. By backing and filling

the sails we endeavoured to avoid collision with the larger masses; but this was not always possible. In the early part of the storm, the rudder of the Erebus was so much damaged as to be no longer of any use; and about the same time I was informed by signal that the Terror's was completely destroyed, and nearly torn away from the stern-post. We had hoped that, as we drifted deeper into the pack, we should get beyond the reach of the tempest; but in this we were mistaken. Hour passed away after hour without the least mitigation of the awful circumstances in which we were placed. Indeed, there seemed to be but little probability of our ships holding together much longer, so frequent and violent were the shocks they sustained. The loud crashing noise of the straining and working of the timbers and decks, as she was driven against some of the heavier pieces, which all the activity and exertions of our people could not prevent, was sufficient to fill the stoutest heart, that was not supported by trust in Him who controls all events, with dismay... At 2 P.M. the storm gained its height, when the barometer stood at 28.40 inches, and after that time began to rise.

Although we had been forced many miles deeper into the pack, we could not perceive that the swell had at all subsided, our ships still rolling and groaning amidst the heavy fragments of crushing bergs, over which the ocean rolled its mountainous waves, throwing huge masses one upon another, and then again burying them deep beneath its foaming waters, dashing and grinding them together with fearful violence. The awful grandeur of such a scene can neither be imagined nor described; far less can the feelings of those who witnessed it be understood. Each of us secured our hold, waiting the issue with resignation to the will of Him who alone could preserve us, and bring us safely through this extreme danger; watching with breathless anxiety the effect of each succeeding collision, and the vibrations of the tottering masts, expecting every moment to see them give way without our having the power to make an effort to save them. Although the force of the wind had somewhat diminished by 4 P.M., yet the squalls came on with unabated violence, laying the ship over on her broadside, and threatening to blow the storm-sails to pieces: fortunately they were quite new, or they never could have withstood such terrific gusts.