the clustering nuts for you.

The lover finds amid the secret shade;

And where they burnish on the topmost bough,
With active vigour crushes down the tree;
Or shakes them ripe, from the resigning husk,
A glossy shower."

Hieroglyphically we emblazon this month by a wreath of purple, crimson and white china asters, surrounding clusters of ripe hazel nuts.

In the reign of Charles the First, October was represented, "In a garment of yellow and carnation, upon his head a garland of oak leaves and acorns, in his right hand the sign Scorpio, in his left a basket of servises, medlars, and chestnuts, and other fruits that ripen late in the year; his robe the colour of the leaves and flowers decaying."-Peacham.

Domitian, the last of the twelve Cæsars, commanded that this month should be called after himself, Domitianus; but he was no

E

sooner assassinated than the senate, in order to obliterate the name of so detestable a tyrant, decreed that it should be called October.

NOVEMBER.

" November chill blaws loud wi' angry sugh;"

"the sun

Scarce spreads thro' æther the dejected day.
Faint are his gleams, and ineffectual shoot
His straggling rays, in horizontal lines,

Thro' the thick air; as cloth'd in cloudy storm,
Weak, wan, and broad, he skirts the southern sky;
And, soon-descending, to the long dark night,
Wide-shading all, the prostrate world resigns."

Thompson.

"An ivy-wreath, fair learning's prize,

Raises Mæcenas to the skies."

Horace.

We would enliven this month of damp clouds and dull spirits by a garland of ivy in

flower, since of old it was employed to adorn both the brow and the bowl of Bacchus. And we know not a prescription better calculated to disperse the ennui of November than an interesting author and a flowing bowl. From the centre of the garland we suspend a bunch of turnips and carrots.

Peacham draws" November in a garment of changeable green and black, with a garland of olives on his head, a bunch of parsnips and turnips in his left hand, and the sign Sagitarius in his right.

DECEMBER.

"Tho' now no more the musing ear
Delights to listen to the breeze,

That lingers o'er the green wood shade

I love thee, Winter, well."

Southey