156 SEPTEMBER. 



And now, dear reader, let us wander together amid 

 the sights and scenes that betoken the year's decline. 

 The fields are busy with the harvest, the brown moor 

 is alive with grouse, the tangled cover in which the 

 gaily painted pheasant struts proudly, in due time, 

 perhaps, to form a dainty dish upon the squire's table 

 — brought down by the legitimate barrel of the certi- 

 fied sportsman — or by the stick of the poacher, who, 

 in his nightly rambles, has been drawn to its roosting- 

 place by its short, oft repeated crow— while the plump 

 partridge runs among the stubble of the cleared wheat 

 field, or lurks amongst the sheaves. The woods are 

 now beginning to assume a more sober tint, the bright 

 green in which they shone in summer is deepening into 

 a darker hue— the leaves of the oak and maple are 

 becoming patched with brown— while stray leaves and 

 small branches, torn off by the wind, strew the ground ; 

 and in the paths in the woods the pretty and curious 

 little shrew mouse (Soreoc araneus) is often found 

 dead, nipped by the night frosts. 



And now, equipped for hunting our " untaxed and 

 undisputed game," let us betake ourselves to Hamp- 

 stead's cheerful vale, and in the shady recesses of the 

 " Bishop's Wood" spend a few profitable hours. But 

 first let me give my readers some description of the 

 locality to which I purpose conducting them. 



Hampstead has long been known as celebrated for 

 the purity of its air and the number of its laundresses ; 

 while its beautiful heath has been, from generation 

 to generation, the paradise of the inhabitants of 

 " Cockaigne" and of landscape painters — and may it 

 long continue to be so ; may its beautiful scenery never 



