THE LAND OE BLACKBERRIES. 
121 
Blackberries! rich, juicy, cool, and gushing, which, 
in the days of boyhood, lured us with their jetty luscious¬ 
ness, and made us forget old Horace and the Pons Asi - 
norum, and in exchange for the Eton Grammar and 
the pickled birch, gave us a larger life in the green 
woods, made our young hearts beat with hopeful enthu¬ 
siasm, and filled us with the first taste of lifers poetry. 
Who then but would love blackberries, even though less 
delicious and refreshing to the palate than they really 
are ? Who but would love the simple fruits which re¬ 
called the memories of orchard-robbing, school-mischief, 
April fools, holiday rambles, and frantic dogs with 
kettles or crackers at their tails ? Blackberries,—ah ! 
away we go, the sunshine is still blinking among the 
trees, and although the air grows chill, autumn is still 
ruddy, and the hedges are yet fruitful. There is Epping 
Eorest, whither we went from Stepney at eight years of 
age “ Blackberrying,” We knew almost every dell, and 
cover, and tangled copse, and from any path could lead 
you direct to the richest garden of Blackberries. We 
knew the haunts of Hornsey, and Einchley, and Old 
Ford—now, alas ! little towns, or appendages to London 
—long before we were twelve years of age; and many 
a dream of Robin Hood and Will Scarlet have we dreamt 
there among the fern, after having sated ourselves, after 
the fashion of Justice Greedy,—with the blackest of ripe 
Blackberries. There was always a charm about it, 
which neither tattered clothes, nor lacerated hands, nor 
angry looks at home, nor harsh words at school, could 
ever dispel; and to compensate for all the sorrows and 
trials of school drudgery and book education, we had the 
