NOVEMBER. 
The drooping year is in the wane, 
No longer floats the thistle-down ; 
The crimson heath is wan and sere, 
The sedge hangs withering by the mere, 
And the broad fern is rent and brown. 
Mary Howitt. 
«f OVEMBER, — pioneer of Winter, month of fog 
and rain, of dirty days and dark nights, — is one 
of the most unwholesome and uncomfortable 
months of the year. The sun rarely shows his bright 
face. The rivers are full to overflowing, and the 
hedges and trees are nearly all quite bare. Yet, in the 
country, the observer of nature may notice many 
things which throw beauty and brightness over the 
scene. If the richly-coloured foliage of the trees is 
gone, we have many bright berries in the hedges, 
which are now in full perfection : the blackberry, the 
haw, the hip, the sloe, the cranberry, and the dark 
