grain. The oaks and beeches shed their nuts, which in the forests that still remain, particularly the New 
Forest in Hampshire, furnish a luxurious repast for the swine, who feast of an evening in as pompous a 
manner as any alderman, to the sound of the herdsman’s horn. But the acorn must not be undervalued 
because it is food for swine, nor thought only robustly of, because it furnishes our ships with timber. It is 
also one of the most beautiful objects of its species, protruding its glossy green nut from its rough and 
sober-coloured cup, and dropping it in a most elegant manner beside the sunny and jagged leaf. We have 
seen a few of them, with their stems in water, make a handsome ornament to a mantle-piece, in this sea- 
son of departing flowers. — The few additional flowers this month are corn flowers, Guernsey-lilies, star- 
wort, and saffron, a species of crocus, which is cultivated in separate grounds. The stamens of this flower 
are pulled, and dried into flat square cakes for medicinal purposes. It was formerly much esteemed in 
cookery. The clown in the Winter’s Tale, reckoning up what he is to buy for the sheepshearing feast, 
mentions ‘ saffron to colour the warden-pies.’ The fresh trees and shrubs in flower are bramble, chaste- 
tree, laurustinus, ivy, wild honey-suckle, spirea, and arbutus, or strawberry-tree, a favourite of Virgil, which, 
like the garden of Alcinous, in Homer, produces flower and fruit at once. Hardy annuals, intended to 
flower in the spring, should now be sown; annuals of curious sorts, from which seed is to be raised, should 
be sheltered till ripened ; and auriculas in pots, which were shifted last month, moderately watered. The 
stone-curlew clamours at the beginning of this month, wood-owls hoot, the ring-ouzel re-appears, the saffron 
butterfly is seen, hares congregate; and, at the end of it, the woodlark, thrush, and blackbird, are heard.’’ 
He further observes, that “September, though its mornings and evenings are apt to be chill and foggy, 
and, therefore, not wholesome to those who either do not, or cannot, guard against them, is generally a 
serene and pleasant month, partaking of the warmth of summer and the vigour of autumn. But its noblest 
feature is a certain festive abundance for the supply of all the creation. There is grain for men, birds, and 
horses, hay for the cattle, loads of fruit on the trees, and swarms of fish in the ocean. If the soft-billed 
birds which feed on insects miss their usual supply, they find it in the southern countries, and leave one’s 
sympathy to be pleased with an idea, that repasts apparently more harmless are alone offered to the crea- 
tion upon our temperate soil.” 
“ I am sorry to mention it,” says the author of the Mirror of the Months, “ but the truth must be told 
even in a matter of age. The year then is on the wane, It is ‘ declining into the vale’ of months. It has 
reached a certain age, it has reached the summit of the hill, and is not only looking, but descending, into 
the valley below. But the year steps onward towards its temporary decay, if not so rejoicingly, even 
more majestically and gracefully, than it does towards its revivification. And if September is not so 
bright with promise, and so buoyant with hope, as May, it is even more embued with that spirit of serene 
repose, in which the only true, because the only continuous enjoyment consists. Spring ‘never is, but 
always to be blest;’ but September is the month of consummations — the fulfiller of all promises — the 
fruition of all hopes — the era of all completeness. 
“The sunsets of September in this country are perhaps unrivalled, for their infinite variety, and their 
indescribable beauty. Those of more southern countries may, perhaps, match or even surpass them, for a 
certain glowing and unbroken intensity. But for gorgeous variety of form and colour, exquisite delicacy 
of tint and pencilling, and a certain placid sweetness and tenderness of general effect, which frequently 
arises out of a union of the two latter, there is nothing to be seen like what we can show in England at this 
season of the year. If a painter, who was capable of doing it to the utmost perfection, were to dare depict 
on canvas one out of twenty of the sunsets that we frequently have during this month, he would be laughed 
at for his pains. And the reason is, that people judge of pictures by pictures. They compare Hobbima 
with Ruysdael, and Ruysdael with Wynants, and Wynants with Wouvermans, and Wouvermans with 
Potter, and Potter with Cuyp; and then they think the affair can proceed no farther. And the chances are, 
that if you were to show one of the sunsets in question to a thorough-paced connoisseur in this department 
of fine art, he would reply, that it was very beautiful, to be sure, but that he must beg to doubt whether it 
was natural, for he had never seen one like it in any of the old masters !” 
