Equation of Time. [See January.] m. sec. Oct. 1, from the time on the dial subtract 10 22 The Moon is full on the 6th of October, at 19 m. after 9 in the morning: she enters her last quarter at 35 m. after 8 in the morning of the 14th. The Moon is at change, or new, at 56 m. after 11 at night on the 20th; and she enters her first quarter at 58 m. after 10 in the evening of the 27th. No eclipses this month of the satellites of Jupiter. The Naturalist's Diary. Hail, lovely season of the changing year! FOWLING, a Poem. THE groves now lose their leafy honours; but, before they are entirely tarnished, an adventitious beauty, arising from that gradual decay which loosens the withering leaf, gilds the autumnal landscape with a temporary splendour superior to the verdure of spring, or the luxuriance of summer. The infinitely various and ever-changing hues of the leaves at this season, melting into every soft gradation of tint and shade, will long continue to engage the imitation of the painter, and the contemplation of the poet and the philosopher. Cc The autumnal forest, however, as Mr. Gilpin' observes, is an instrument easily untuned. One frosty night, or parching blast, may introduce some striking discord; though, on the other hand, it is true, by softening some discordant tint, it may as easily introduce a harmony which did not exist before. Here art comes to the aid of nature. The pencil fixes the scene in the happy moment; and the fading tints of autumn become perennial. "I have known some planters endeavour, in their improvements, to range their trees in such a manner, as, in the wane of the year, to receive all the beauty of autumnal covering. The attempt is vain, unless they could so command the weather as to check, or produce at pleasure, those tints, which nature hath subjected to so many accidents. A general direction is all that can be given. Oak is rarely in discord; but beech and elm can as rarely be depended on. All must be left to chance; -and after the utmost that art can do, the wild forest, with its casual discords and monotonies, will present a thousand beauties, which no skill of man can rival. Thus the beauties of the waning year are fixed rather by the weather than the calendar. We often see them vanish in October; and we sometimes see a fine autumnal effect in the beginning of November: nay, even later, we may trace the beauties of the declining year, and catch the last smile Of autumn beaming o'er the yellow woods. Even when the beauty of the landscape is gone, the charms of autumn may remain. After the rage of summer is abated, and before the rigours of winter are yet set in, there are often days of such heavenly temperature, that every mind must feel Forest Scenery, vol. i, p. 269. their effect. THOMSON, to whom the beauties of nature were familiar, thus describes a day of this kind : -- The morning shines, Serene in all its dewy beauties bright, Beyond dim earth exalts the swelling thought. To the picturesque beauties of autumn we may add, that the setting sun, at that season, is commonly richer than when the days are of the same length in the spring, or, indeed, at any other season.' The evenings in autumn are the peculiar favourites of the contemplatist, and the man of taste and sentiWith reference to this particular season, it has been beautifully observed by Mr. Alison (Sermons, p. 323), 'There is an even-tide in the day,―an hour when the sun retires, and the shadows fall, and when nature assumes the appearances of soberness and silence. It is an hour from which every where the thoughtless fly, as peopled only in their imagination with images of gloom;-it is the hour, on the other hand, which, in every age, the wise have loved, as bringing with it sentiments and affections more valuable than all the splendors of the day. Its first impression is to still all the turbulence of thought or passion which the day may have brought forth. We follow, with our eye, the descending sun, we listen to the decaying sounds of labour and of toil,-and, when all the fields are silent around us, we feel a kindred stilness to breathe upon our souls, and to calm them from the agitations of society. From this first impression, there is a second which naturally follows it ;-in the day we are living with men,-in the evening we begin to live with nature ;—we see the world withdrawn from us, the shades of night darken over the habitations of men, and we feel ourselves alone. It is an hour, fitted, as it would seem, by Him who made us, to still, but with gentle hand, the throb of every unruly passion, and the ardour of every impure desire; and, while it veils for a time the world that misleads us, to awaken in our hearts those legitimate affections which the heat of the day may have dissolved.' How beautiful is night! A dewy freshness fills the silent air. Breaks the whole serene of heaven. The desert circle spreads; Like the round ocean girded by the sea. SOUTHEY. Nature having perfected her seeds, her next care is to disperse them: the seed cannot answer its purpose while it remains confined in the capsule. After the seeds, therefore, are ripened, the pericarpium opens to let them out; and the opening is not like an accidental bursting, but, for the most part, is according to a certain rule in each plant. Some seeds which are furnished with hooks or spines, attach themselves to the rough coats of animals, and thus promote their dispersion. Others are contained in berries, and, being swallowed by birds, are again committed, without injury, to the earth in various places.-See T. T. for 1814, p. 269, and T. T. for 1815, p. 296. Hips, haws, sloes, and blackberries, now adorn our hedges; and the berries of the barberry (berberis vulgaris), bryony (tamus communis), honeysuckle, elder, holly, woody-nightshade, and privet (ligustrum vulgare), afford a valuable supply of food for many of the feathered race, while passing their winter with us. About the middle of the month, the common martin disappears; and, shortly afterwards, the smallest kind of swallow, the sand-martin, migrates. The Royston or hooded crow (corvus cornix) arrives from Scotland and the northern parts of England, being driven thence by the severity of the season. It destroys lambs, and young partridges and moor fowl, and is almost as mischievous as the raven. The woodcock returns, and is found on our eastern coasts. Various kinds of waterfowl make their appearance; and, about the middle of the month, wild geese leave the fens, and go to the rye lands, to devour the young corn. Rooks sport and dive in a playful manner, before they go to roost, congregating in large numbers. Stares assemble in the fen countries, in vast multitudes, and, perching on the reeds, render them unfit for thatching, and thus materially injure the property of the farmer. The ground is covered, about this time, with spiders' webs, crossing the path from shrub to shrub, and floating in the air. Some curious particulars respecting the web of the spider appeared, some years since, in the Journal de Physique. I had (says the writer) some shrubs in pots; and one day, when it was very warm, I removed them from the sun, and placed them on the floor of my chamber. Casting my eyes on them about an hour after, I was not a little surprised to see a pretty, small, vertical spider's web, which extended from one shrub to another. It was not above two inches in diameter; but the concentric circles and radii were exceedingly numerous. Nothing could be more elegant; and the centre of it was quietly occupied by a small spider, not larger than the head of a pin. I was certain that this web had not existed an hour before, as I had removed my pots one after the other; and I could not conceive how so much work, that must have required so many journeys, 'could have been completed so soon; but what increased my astonishment not a little was, that each pot was placed in a small vessel filled with water. Supposing then that the spider had gone from the one shrub to |