MEMOIR ()F THOMAS BEWICK. 115 



admire the dangling woodbine and roses, and the 

 grasses powdered or spangled with pearly drops of 

 dew ; and also, week after week, the continued suc- 

 cession of plants and wild flowers. The primrose, 

 the wild hyacinth, the harebell, the daisy, the 

 cowslip, &c., these, altogether, I thought no 

 painter ever could imitate. I had not, at that 

 time, ever heard the name of the great and good 

 Linnaeus, and knew plants only by their common 

 English names. While admiring these beautifully- 

 enamelled spots on my way, I was also charmed 

 with the equally beautiful little songsters, which 

 were constantly pouring out their various notes to 

 proclaim the spring. While this exhilarating 

 season glided on by imperceptible degrees, un- 

 folding its blossoms till they faded into summer, 

 and as the days lengthened, my hours of rising 

 became more and more early. I have often 

 thought, that not one half of mankind knew any- 

 thing of the beauty, the serenity, and the stillness 

 of the summer mornings in the country, nor have 

 ever witnessed the rising sun's shining forth upon 

 the new day. 



I had often listened with great pleasure and 

 attention to my father's description of the morn- 

 ing, with his remarks upon the various wild 

 quadrupeds and the strange birds he had seen or 

 heard in these still hours throughout the year; for 

 he left his bed very early in summer, and seldom 

 later than four or five o'clock in the winter. The 

 autumn I viewed as the most interesting season, 

 and, in its appearance, the most beautiful. It 

 is then that the yellow harvest of the fields, and 

 the produce of the orchards, are gathered in, as 

 the reward of the labours of the year ; while the 



