The Clematis is as great a rambler as the Honeysuckle itself : — 
“ o’errun 
By vines, and boundless clematis, (between 
Whose wilderness of leaves white roses peep’d) 
And honeysuckle, which, with trailing boughs, 
Dropp’d o’er a sward, grateful as ever sprung 
By sprinkling fountains.” 
Barry Cornwall. 
Mr. Keats makes mention of the Clematis in a passage of which, as it relates entirely to flowers, it may, 
perhaps, be allowable to quote the whole. He describes a youth sleeping in a bower walled with myrtle : — 
“ Above his head 
Four lily-stalks did their white honours wed, 
To make a coronal, and round him grew 
All tendrils green, of every bloom and hue ; 
Together intertwined, and trammel’d fresh : 
The vine of glossy sprout ; the ivy-mesh, 
This poet appears to allude to the Clematis 
Shading its Ethiop berries ; and woodbine 
Of velvet leaves, and bugle blooms divine ; 
Convolvulus in streaked vases flush ; 
The creeper, mellowing for an autumn blush ; 
And virgin’s bower, trailing airily, 
With others of the sisterhood.” Endymion, p. 72. 
the Honeysuckle in the following passage : — 
“ The sweet- lipped ladies have already greeted 
All the green leaves that round the window clamber 
Wherever a lattice is mentioned, the Clematis is 
“ In all the calmness of a cloudless eve, 
How gently dies a long, long summer’s day, 
O’er yon broad wood, as loth to take its leave, 
It sheds at parting its most lovely ray, 
And golden lights o’er all the landscape play, 
To show their purple stars, and bells of amber.” 
Keats’s Poems, p. 26. 
expected to run over it : — 
And languid zephyrs waft their rich perfume, 
Where the wide lattice gives them open way, 
Anc^ breathe a freshness round the twilight room, 
From jasmine, clematis, and yellow-blossomed broom.” 
From an unpublished Collection by different Authors. 
The following passages are from William Howitt’s account of September, in his Book of the Seasons. 
The wood-lark now having abandoned its summer music, may yet be heard uttering its fine wild 
autumnal note of lu-lu, lu-lu, lu-lu, on the distant uplands of our southern and western counties, particularly 
Devon and Cornwall, and amongst the hills of South Wales. 
Finishing corn-harvest and thatching ricks ; laying in winter fuel, as coals, wood, etc.; ploughing and 
sowing wheat upon the fallows, also after-crops of tares, clover, early peas, etc.; gathering in orchard-fruit 
for sale, and for cider-making, and gathering the hop harvest, are the chief employments of this month. 
We have spoken of the picturesque beauty of hop-gathering in the last month ; but this month, in the 
hop counties, presents the most general scene of hop gathering. Throughout Kent and Sussex, long groups 
are everywhere to be seen pulling, down the hop-poles covered with the bine in full flower, picking them 
into the bins, and conveying them away to the drying-kilns. In the hollows, and on slopes of the Kentish 
hills, the hop-grounds with their luxuriance of dark -green hop-vines hanging from the poles in masses of 
pale-green flowers, their picturesque knots of gatherers, men, women, and children, — all having turned out, 
— their homely cottages peeping here and there, and the drying-kilns sending up, at intervals, their wreaths 
of thin white smoke, altogether form a most cheering and true English sight. The whole country is odorous 
with the aroma of hop, as it is breathed forth from the drying-kilns, and from waggons piled with towering 
loads of hops already on their way to the metropolis. To those who meet for the first time the almost in- 
numerable waggon-loads of hops at this season, thronging the roads from Sussex and Kent to London, and 
piled up in their huge pockets to an enormous height, it is a scene which excites astonishment ; and does 
not fail to impress them with a vivid idea of the immense growth of this vegetable, and of its vast use in the 
cordial old English beverage^ — ale, and its more modern congener — porter. At this season, too, not only is the 
atmosphere perfumed with hop, but the very atmosphere of the dining and drawing room too. Hops are 
the grand flavour of conversation, as well as of beer. Gentlemen, ladies, clergymen, noblemen, all are 
growers of hops, and deeply interested in the state of the crop, and the state of the market. 
We may add by way of conclusion a few lines from the delightful Poet of the Seasons: — 
But see the fading many-colour’d woods, 
Shade deepening over shade, the country round 
Imbrown ; a crowded umbrage, dusk, and dun, 
Of every hue, from wan declining green 
To sooty dark. These now the lonesome Muse, 
Low-whispering, lead into their leaf-strown walks, 
And give the Season in its latest view. 
The Clematis, having been used by impostors to make sores, is the emblem of artifice. 
