98 THE LIFE OF PHILIP HENRY GOSSE. 



dry thoughts ; there was no fresh flavour of the earth about 

 them. If it had not been for the blessed insects he must 

 have died of ennui. 



It was not, however, for a long while that Philip Gosse 

 realized his disappointment. The rose-colour was in no 

 hurry to rub off. In September, 1835, he writes home to a 

 friend in Poole, relapsing into the old familiar vernacular, 

 " I am now become such a farmer that I believe I could 

 smack a whip with ere a chap in the county o' Dorset." 

 He was full of enthusiasm for the natural beauties of the 

 Canadian autumn. In the same letter he writes : " The 

 trees are now beginning to fade in leaf, which causes the 

 forest to assume a most splendid appearance. The foliage 

 is of the most gorgeous hues ; the brilliant rich crimson of 

 the maple, the yellow of the elm, the orange and scarlet of 

 other trees, set off by the fine dark green of the beech and 

 the nearly black of the cedars and pines, give a beauty, a 

 splendour, to the landscape which cannot be conceived by 

 those who have not seen it." The following extract is 

 from a letter to his father, dated June 11, 1836 : — 



" I have to work with my own hands. To be sure, I 

 " have not felled many trees yet, except for fuel ; nor is 

 " it necessary, as I have several large fields which have 

 " been many years in cultivation. However, if you could 

 " peep at me, you would haply see me at the tail of the 

 " plough, bawling at the top of my voice to the horses ; 

 " or casting the seed into the ground ; or mowing the 

 " seedy grass ; or pitching the sun-dried hay to the top 

 " of the cart. The country is a lovely one, especially 

 " at this most charming season— -formosissimus annus — 

 " when the ground is covered with grass and flowers, and 

 " the woods adorned with masses of the richest foliage, 

 " enlivened by birds of sweet song and gay plumage. I 

 "have seen the beautiful Tanagra rubra, with his coat 



