Next him
September marched eke on foot,
Yet was he hoary, laden with the spoil
Of harvest riches, which he made his boot,
And him enriched with bounty of the soil;
In his one hand, as fit for harvest's toil,
He held a knife-hook; and in th' other hand
A pair of weights, with which he did assoil
Both more and less, where it in doubt did stand,
And equal gave to each as justice duly scanned.
Spenser
DESCRIPTIVE
Far inland within sight of our
wave-wash shores, along the margins of our pleasant
rivers, in level meadows and sinking valleys, on
gentle uplands and sloping hill-sides, there is now a
busy movement, for men and maidens are out, with their
beaded sickles, to gather in the golden harvest. The
village streets are comparatively silent.
Scores of cottages are shut
up�one old woman perhaps only left to look after the
whole row�for even the children have gone to glean,
and many of the village artizans find it pleasant to
quit their usual employment for a few days, and go out
to reap the corn. There will be no getting a coat
mended or a shoe cobbled for days to come. If there is
a stir of life in the village street, those who move
along are either coming from or going to the reapers,
bringing back empty bottles and baskets, or carrying
them filled with ale and provisions. A delicate
Cockney, who can only eat the lean of his overdone
mutton-chop, with the aid of pickles, would stand
aghast at the great cold dinner spread out for the
farmer and his house-servants�men, each with the
appetite of three, and maidens who can eat meat that
is all fat. Pounds of fat beef, bacon, and ham, great
wedges of cheese, cold apple-pies, with crusts two
inches thick, huge brown loaves, lumps of butter, and
a continually gurgling ale, are the viands which a
well-to-do farmer places before his servants, and
shares with them, for he argues, he cannot expect to
get the proper quantity of work out of them unless
they live well.
To get his harvest in quick,
while the weather is fine, is the study of the great
corn-grower; and such a far-seeing man scarcely gives
the cost a consideration, for he knows that those who
delay will, if the weather changes, be ready to pay
almost any price for reapers; so he gets in his corn '
while the sun shines.' If well got in, what a price it
will fetch in the market, compared with that which was
left out in the rain, until it became discoloured and
sprouted! And as he points to his ricks with pride, he
asks what's the value of the extra bullock, the pig or
two, and the few barrels of ale the reapers consumed,
compared to such a crop as that; and he is right. It
is an anxious time for the farmer. He is continually
looking at his weather-glass, and watching those
out-of-door signs which denote a change in the
weather, and which none are better acquainted with
than those who pass so much of their life in the
fields. Unlike the manufacturer, who carries on his
business indoors what-ever the changes of the season
may be, the farmer is dependent on the weather for the
safety of his crop, and can never say what that will
be, no matter how beautiful it may look while
standing, until it is safely garnered. Somehow he
seems to live nearer to God than the busy indwellers
of cities, for he puts his trust in Him who has
promised that He will always send 'seed-time and
harvest.'
How gracefully a good reaper
handles his sickle, and clutches the corn�one sweep,
and the whole armful is down, and laid so neat and
level, that when the band is put round the sheaf, the
bottom of almost every straw touches the ground when
it is reared up, and the ears look as level as they
did while growing! It is a nice art to make those
corn-bands well, which bind the sheaves�to twist the
ears of corn so that they shall all cluster together
without shaking out the grain, and then to tie up the
sheaves, so round and plump, that they may be rolled
over, when stacking or loading, without hardly a head
becoming loose.
There are rich morsels of
colour about the cornfield where the reapers are at
work. The handkerchiefs which they bind around their
foreheads, to keep off the sun�the white of their
shirt-sleeves, making spots of light amid the yellow
corn�the gleaners in costumes of every hue, blue, red,
and gray, stooping or standing here and there, near
the overhanging trees in the hedgerows�make such a
diversity of colour as please the eye, while the great
blue heaven spans over all, and a few loose silver
clouds float gently over the scene. In such a light,
the white horses seem cut out of silver, the chestnuts
of ruddy gold, while the black horses stand out
against the sky, as if cut in black marble. What great
gaps half a-dozen reapers soon make in the standing
corn! Half-an-hour ago, where the eye dwelt on a broad
furrow of upstanding ears, there is now a low road of
stubble, where trails of the ground-convolvulus may be
seen, and the cyanus of every hue, which the country
children call corn-flowers. Pretty is it, too, to see
the little children gleaning, each with a rough bag or
pocket before it, and a pair of old scissors dangling
by its side, to cut off the straw, for only the ears
are to be placed in the gleaner's little bag.
Then there is the large poke,
under the hedge, into which their mother empties the
tiny glean-bags, and that by night will be filled, and
a heavy load it is for the poor woman to carry home on
her head, for a mile or two, while the little ones
trot along by her side, the largest perhaps carrying a
small sheaf, which she has gleaned, and from which the
straw has not been cut, while the ears hang down and
mingle with her flowing hair. A good, kind-hearted
farmer will, like Boaz of old, when he spoke kindly to
pretty Ruth, let his poor neighbours glean ' even
amongst the sheaves.' The dry hard stubble, amid which
they glean, cuts the bare legs and naked arms of the
poor children like wires, making them as rough at
times as fresh-plucked geese. Rare gleaning there is
where the 'stooks' have stood, when the wagons come to
'lead' the corn out of the field. The men stick the
sheaves on their forks as fast as you can count them,
throw them into the wagon, then move on to the next 'stook'�each
of which consists of eight or ten sheaves�then there
is a rush and scramble to the spot that is just
cleared, for there the great ears of loose and fallen
corn lie thick and close together, and that is the
richest gleaning harvest yields.
Who has not paused to see the
high-piled wagons come rocking over the furrowed
fields, and sweeping through the green lanes, at the
leading-home of harvest? All the village turns out to
see the last load carried into the rick-yard; the
toothless old grandmother, in spectacles, stands at
her cottage-door; the poor old labourer, who has been
long ailing, and who will never more help to reap the
harvest, leans on his stick in the sun-shine; while
the feeble huzzas of the children mingle with the
deep-chested cheers of the men, and the silvery ring
of maiden-voices�all welcoming home the last load with
cheery voices, especially where the farmer is
respected, and has allowed his poor neighbours to
glean.
Some are mounted on the
sheaves, and one sheaf is often decorated with flowers
and ribbons, the last that was in the field; and
sometime a pretty girl sits sideways on one of the
great fat horses, her straw-hat ornamented with
flowers and ears of corn. Right proud she is when
hailed by the rustics as the Harvest Queen! Then there
are the farmer, his wife, and daughters, all standing
and smiling at the open gate of the stack-yard; and
proud is the driver as he cocks his hat aside, and
giving the horses a slight touch, sends the last load
with a sweep into the yard, that almost makes you feel
afraid it will topple over, so much does it rock
coming in at this grand finish.
Rare gleaning is
there, too, for the birds, and many a little animal,
in the long lanes through which the wagons have passed
during the harvest, for almost every overhanging
branch has taken toll from the loads, while the
hawthorn-hedges have swept over them like rakes. The longtailed field-mouse will
carry off many an ear to
add to his winter-store, and stow away in his snug
nest under the embankment. What grand subjects,
mellowed by the setting suns of departed centuries, do
these harvest-fields bring before a picture-loving
eye!
Abraham among his
reapers�Isaac musing in the fields at even-tide�Jacob
labouring to win Rachel �Joseph and the great
granaries of Egypt�Ruth
'Standing in tears among the
alien corn'
and the harvests of Palestine,
amid which our Saviour walked by the side of His disciples.
All these scenes pass before a meditative mind while gazing
over the harvest-field, filled with busy reapers and gleaners, and we think how,
thousands of years ago, the same picture was seen by the patriarchs, and that
Ruth herself may have led David by the hand, while yet a child, through the very
fields in which she herself had gleaned.
But the frames in which these old pictures were placed were
not carved into such beautiful park-like scenery and green pastoral spots as we
see in England, for there the harvest-fields were hemmed in by rocky hills, and
engirded with deserts, where few trees waved, and the villages lay far and wide
apart. And, instead of the sound of the thrasher's flail, oxen went treading
their weary round to trample out the corn, which in spring shot up in green
circles where they had trodden.
Winged seeds now ride upon the
air, like insects, many of them balanced like
balloons, the broad top uppermost, and armed with
hooked grapnels, which take fast hold of whatever they
alight upon. We see the net-work of the spider
suspended from leaf to branch, which in the early
morning is hung with rounded crystals, for such seem
the glittering dew-drops as they catch the light of
the rising sun. The hawthorn-berries begin to shew red
in the hedges, and we see scarlet heps where, a few
weeks ago, the clustering wild-roses bloomed. Here and
there, in sunny places, the bramble-berries have began
to blacken, though many yet wear a crude red, while
some are green, nor is it unusual, in a mild
September, to see a few of the satin-like bramble
blossoms, putting out here and there, amid a profusion
of berries.
The bee seems to move wearily
from flower to flower, for they lie wider asunder now
than they did a month ago, and the little hillocks
covered with wild-thyme, which he scarcely deigned to
notice then, he now gladly alights upon, and revels
amid the tiny sprigs of lavender-coloured bloom. The
spotted wood-leopard moth may still be seen, and the
goat-moth, whose larva is called the oak-piercer, and
sometimes the splendid tiger-moth comes sailing by on
Tyrian wings, that fairly dazzle the eye with their
beauty. But at no season of the year are the sunsets
so beautiful as now; and many who have travelled far
say, that nowhere in the world do the clouds hang in
such gaudy colours of ruby and gold, about the western
sky, as they do in England during autumn, and that
these rich effects are produced through our being
surrounded by the sea. Nor is sunrise less beautiful
seen from the summit of some hill, while the valleys
are still covered with a white mist.
The tops of the trees seem at
first to rise above a country that is flooded, while
the church-spire appears like some sea-mark, heaving
out of the mist. Then comes a great wedge-like beam of
gold, cutting deep down into the hollows, skewing the
stems of the trees, and the roofs of cottages, gilding
barn and outhouse, making a golden road through a land
of white mist, which seems to rise on either hand,
like the sea which Moses divided for the people of
Israel to pass through dryshod. The dew-drops on the
sun-lighted summit the feet rest upon are coloured
like precious stones of every dye, and every blade of
grass is beaded with these gorgeous gems. Sometimes
the autumnal mists do not rise more than four or five
feet above the earth, revealing only the heads of
horse and rider, who seem to move up as if breasting a
river, while the shepherd and milkmaid shew like
floating busts. The following word-painting was made
in the early sunrise, while we were wanderers, many
long years ago:
On the far sky leans the
old ruined mill;
Through its rent sails the broken sunbeams glow;
Gilding the trees that belt the lower hill,
And the old oaks which on its summit grow;
Only the reedy marsh that sleeps below,
With its dwarf bushes is concealed from view;
And now a straggling thorn its head doth shew,
Another half shakes off the misty blue
Just where the smoky gold streams through the
heavy dew.
And there the hidden river
lingering dreams,
You scarce can see the banks that round it lie;
That withered trunk, a tree, or shepherd seems,
Just as the light or fancy strikes the eye.
Even the very sheep which graze hard by,
So blend their fleeces with the misty haze,
They look like clouds shook from the cold gray sky
Ere morning o'er the unsunned hill did blaze�
The vision fades as they move further off to
graze.
We have often fancied that
deer never look so beautiful, as when in autumn they
move about, or couch amid the rich russet-coloured
fern�when there is a blue atmosphere in the distance,
and the trees scattered around are of many changing
hues. There is a majesty in the movements of these
graceful animals, both in the manner of their walk,
and the way they carry their heads, crowned with
picturesque antlers. Then they are so particular in
their choice of pasture, refusing to eat where the
verdure is rank or trampled down, also feeding very
slowly, and when satisfied, lying down to chew the cud
at their ease. Their eyes are also very beautiful,
having a sparkling softness about them like the eyes
of a woman, while the senses of sight, smelling, and
hearing are more perfect than that of the generality
of quadrupeds. Watch their attitude while listening!
that raised head, and those erect ears, catch sounds
so distant that they would not be within our own
hearing, were we half a mile nearer the sound from the
spot where the herd is feeding.
Beautiful are the fern and
heath covered wastes in September�with their bushes
bearing wild-fruits, sloe, and bullace, and crab; and
where one may lie hidden for hours, watching how
beast, bird, and insect pass their time away, and what
they do in these solitudes. In such spots, we have
seen great gorse-bushes in bloom, high as the head of
a mounted horseman; impenetrable places where the
bramble and the sloe had become entangled with the
furze and the branches of stunted hawthorns, that had
never been able to grow clear of the wild waste of
underwood�spots where the boldest hunter is compelled
to draw in his rein, and leave the hounds to work
their way through the tangled maze. Many of these
hawthorns were old and gray, and looked as if some
giant hand had twisted a dozen iron stems into one,
and left them to grow and harden together in ridges,
and knots, and coils, that looked like the relics of
some older world�peopled with other creations than
those the eye now dwells upon. Some few such spots we
yet know in England, of which no record can be found
that they were ever cultivated. And over these bowery
hollows, and this dense underwood, giant oaks threw
their arms so far out, that we marvelled how the hoary
trunks, which were often hollow, could bear such
weights without other support than the bole from which
they sprang�spewing a strength which the builder man,
with all his devices, is unable to imitate.
Others there were�gnarled,
hoary trunks �which, undated centuries ago, the bolt
had blackened, and the lightning burned, so monstrous
that they took several men, joined hand-to-hand, to
girth them, yet still they sent out a few green leaves
from their branchless tops, like aged ruins whose
summits the ivy often covers. And in these haunts the
red fox sheltered, and the gray badger had its home,
and there the wild-cat might some-times be seen
glaring like a tiger, through the branches, on the
invader of its solitude. It seemed like a spot in
which vegetation had struggled for the mastery for
ages, and where the tall trees having overtopped the
assailing underwood, were hemmed in every way, and
besieged until they perished from the rank growth
below. But every here and there were sunny spots, and
open glades, where the turf rose elastic from the
tread, and great green walls of hazel shot up more
like trees than shrubs. There were no such nuts to be
found anywhere as on these aged hazels, which, when
ripe, we could shake out of their husks, or
cups�nothing to be found in our planted. Nutteries so
firm and sweet as those grown in this wildwood, and
Nutting Day is still kept up as a rural holiday in
September in many parts of England, in the
neighbourhood of merry greenwoods.
Towards the end of the month,
old and young, maidens and their sweethearts,
generally accompanied by a troop of happy boys and
girls, sally out with bags and crooks, bottles and
baskets, containing drink and food, pipes and tobacco
for the old people, and all that is required for a
rough rustic repast 'all under the greenwood tree.'
One great feature of this old rural merry-making, is
their going out in their very homeliest attire, and
many there were who had worn the same nutting dress
for years. Old Royster's leather-shorts had been the
heirloom of two generations, and when last we heard of
them, were still able to bid defiance to brake or
brier.
A fashionable picnic is shorn
of all that heart-happiness which is enjoyed by homely
country-people, for, in the former, people are afraid
of appearing natural. Pretty country girls were not
called ' young ladies' at these rural holidays, but by
their sweet-sounding Christian names; and oh what
music there is in 'Mary' compared with 'Miss!' What
merry laughter have we heard ringing through those old
woods, as some pretty maiden was uplifted by her
sweet-heart to reach the ripe cluster of nuts which
hung on the topmost bough, where they had been browned
by the sun, when, overbalancing himself, they came
down among the soft wood-grass, to the great merriment
of every beholder! Some were sure to get lost, and
there was such shouting and hallooing as awakened
every echo, and sent the white owls sailing half
asleep in search of some quieter nook, where they
could finish their nap in peace.
Then what a beautiful
banquet-hall they find in some open sunny spot,
surrounded with hazels, and overtopped by tall trees,
where the golden rays, shining through the leaves,
throw a warm mellow light on all around! Nothing
throws out smoother or more beautifully coloured
branches than the hazel, the bark of which shines as
if it had been polished. And who has not admired its
graceful catkins in spring, that droop and wave like
elegant laburnums, and are seen long before its leaves
appear? Nor does autunm, amid all its rich coloured
foliage, skew a more beautiful object than a golden
hued hazel-copse, which remains in leaf later than
many of the trees. When this clear yellow tint of the
leaves is seen, the nuts are ripe, and never
before�one shake at a branch, and down they come
rattling out of their cups by scores�real 'brown sheelers,' as they are called
by country, people.
Wood-nuts gathered at the end of September or the
beginning of October, have the true 'nutty' flavour,
which is never tasted if they are gathered before.
These wild-nuts are seldom
found hollow '�so they are called when the kernel is
eaten by the white grub, the egg of which was laid
while the nut was in a soft state early in summer. And
unless this grub has eaten its way out, and left
visible the hole by which it escaped, we have never
yet been able to discover what part of the shell the
fly pierced when depositing its egg. This grub is
still a puzzle, nor do we remember to have ever seen
its re-appearance as a perfect weevil in spring,
though we have often looked on while letting itself
down from the nut by the thread it had spun after
escaping from the shell. How long it remains in the
earth is not at present known; nor is there a
certainty that the grub buries itself in the earth at
all while in a state of pupa, though it must find
something to feed on somewhere before reaching a state
of imago, some imagine, unless it obtain nourishment
enough in the kernel it had eaten, prior to undergoing
this later change. This, we believe, is a nut which
none of our many clever naturalists have yet cracked
to their own satisfaction.
HISTORICAL
When the year began in March,
this was the seventh of its months; consequently, was
properly termed September. By the commencement of the
year two months earlier, the name is now become
inappropriate, as is likewise the case with its three
followers�October, November, and December. When Julius
Caesar reformed the calendar, he gave this month a
31st day, which Augustus subsequently took from it;
and so it has since remained. Our Saxon ancestors
called it Gerst monat, or barley-month, because they
then realized this crop; one of unusual importance to
them, on account of the favourite beverage which they
brewed from it.
On the 23rd, the sun enters the
constellation Libra, and passes to the southward of
the equator, thus producing the autumnal equinox; a
period usually followed by a course of stormy weather.
September, however, is often with us a month of steady
and pleasant weather, notwithstanding that in the
mornings and evenings the first chills of winter begin
to be felt. On the 1
st
of the month, at London, the
sun is up 12h 28m, and on the 30th, 11h 38m.
