NATURALIST'S AUTUMNAL WALK. 115 



the whole to the earth, so that in the spring we 

 commonly find a gap to be repaired where the cle- 

 matis has thriven. About February, or towards 

 the end of winter, this plant becomes stripped of its 

 feathery seeds, which is accomplished by mice, I 

 believe the harvest and the long- tailed one (mus 

 sylvaticus) principally ; with these they form nest- 

 like beds in the upper and thickest part of the hedge, 

 resorting to them in the daytime, where they enjoy 

 in tolerable safety the air and warmth of the season, 

 in preference to their cold and damp apartments in 

 the earth, and I have occasionally disturbed them 

 in their dormitories ; but at this time it is not ob- 

 served that the seeds are much fed upon by them, 

 and probably are only collected as shelter in a tem- 

 porary dwelling. 



The little excursions of the naturalist, from habit 

 and from acquirement, become a scene of constant 

 observation and remark. The insect that crawls, 

 the note of the bird, the plant that flowers, or the 

 vernal green leaf that peeps out, engages his atten- 

 tion, is recognised as an intimate, or noted from 

 some novelty that it presents in sound or aspect. 

 Every season has its peculiar product, and is pleas- 

 ing or admirable, from causes that variously affect 

 our different temperaments or dispositions; but 

 there are accompaniments in an autumnal mornings' 

 woodland walk, that call for all our notice and ad- 

 miration : the peculiar feeling of the air, and the 



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