Some build the shocks, some load the spacious wains,
Some lead to shelt'ring barns the fragrant corn;
Some form tall ricks, that, tow'ring o'er the plains
For many a mile, the homestead yards adorn.-
The rattling car with verdant branches crowned,
The joyful swains that raise the clam'rous song,
Th' enclosure gates thrown open all around,

The stubble peopled by the gleaning throng,
Soon mark glad harvest o'er.-Ye rural lords,
Whose wide domains o'er Albion's isle extend;
Think whose kind hand your annual wealth affords,
And bid to HEAVEN your grateful praise ascend!

JOHN SCOTT.

The labours of the sickle completed, those who have toiled in securing the wealth of their employer, now receive the welcome reward of a harvest-supper or festival.

Here once a year distinction lowers its crest,
The master, servant, and the merry guest,
Are equal, all; and round the happy ring
The reaper's eyes exulting glances fling,
And warmed with gratitude he quits his place,
With sunburnt hands, and ale-enlivened face,
Refills the jug his honoured host to tend,
To serve at once the master and the friend;
Proud thus to meet his smiles, to share his tale,
His nuts, bis conversation, and his ale.

BLOOMFIELD.

Luxury and refinement, however, have, we fear, of late years, contributed almost entirely to divide the labourer from his employer; and the poet sings of days long past.'

The separate table and the costly bowl

6

are but too common at the close of harvest in many parts of England. It is devoutly to be wished' (observes a useful writer), that the farmer, the gentleman, and the clergyman, would ever keep in mind, that personal intercourse, at times, with their inferiors, upon free but not too familiar a footing, tempered with cheerful and innocent mirth, is not only a duty, but their interest, and would tend to attach the labourer to his master, and

be one great means of civilizing and purifying society.' We should do well to take a lesson from our continental neighbours in this respect, as their excellent treatment of domestic servants insures the highest fidelity and most inflexible honesty. May the description of the poet again become universal in its application!

Labour and mirth united, glow beneath

The mid-day sun: the laughing hinds rejoice:
Their master's heart is opened, and his eye
Looks with indulgence on the gleaning poor,
At length adorned with boughs and garlands gay,
Nods the last load along the shouting field.
Now to the God of harvest in a song
The grateful farnier pays accepted thanks,
With joy unfeigned; while to his ravished ear
The gratulations of assisting swains

Are music. His exulting soul expands:
He presses every aiding hand; he bids

The plenteous feast, beneath some spreading tree,
Load the large board; and circulates the bowl,
The copious bowl, unmeasured, unrestrained'.'

About the 11th of August, the puffin (alca arctica) migrates. Priestholme, or Puffin's Island, about three quarters of a mile from the Isle of Anglesea, abounds with these birds; and their flocks, for multitude, may be compared to swarms of bees.

About the middle of the month, the swift disappears, and probably migrates to more southern regions. Rooks begin to roost in their nest trees, and young broods of goldfinches (fringilla carduelis) appear; lapwings (tringa vanellus) and linnets (fringilla linota) congregate; the nuthatch chatters; and, towards the end of the month, the redbreast is again heard.

At the beginning of the month, melilot (trifolium officinale), rue (ruta graveolens), the water parsnip

Dodsley's Agriculture,' a Poem. The reader may peruse also the remaining stanzas of Mr. John Scott's Elegy written in Harvest,' just quoted.

(sysimbrium nasturtium), horehound (marrubium vulgare), water-mint (mentha aquatica), the orpine (sedum telephium), and the gentiana amarella, have their flowers full blown. The purple blossoms of the meadow saffron (colchicum autumnale) now adorn the low moist lands. The number of plants in flower, however, is greatly lessened in August, those which bloomed in the former months running fast to seed. The queen of flowers is no more; we now take leave of this beauty, in the following lines of Waller :

Go, lovely Rose,

Tell her that wastes her time and me,
That now she knows,

When I resemble her to thee,

How sweet and fair she seems to be.

Tell her that's young,

And shuns to have her graces spied,

That hadst thou sprung

In desarts, where no men abide,

Thou must have uncommended died.

Small is the worth

Of Beauty from the light retired;
Bid her come forth,

Suffer herself to be desired,

And not blush so to be admired.

Then die, that she,

The common fate of all things rare,

May read in thee,—

How small a part of time they share

That are so wondrous sweet and fair'.

1

Emil. Of all flowers

Methinks the rose is best.

Serv. Why, gentle madam?

Emil. It is the very emblem of a maid:

For when the west wind courts her gently,

How modestly she blows, and paints the Sun

With her chaste blushes! When the north comes near her,

Rude and impatient, then, like chastity,

She locks her beauties in her bud again,

And leaves him to base briars.

BEAUMONT AND FLETCHER.

The scarcity of flowers, however, is amply repaid by an abundance of fruits of various kinds and hues:

The mealy plum

Hangs purpling, or displays an amber hue;
The luscious fig, the tempting pear, the vine,
Perchance, that in the noontide eye of light
Basks glad in rich festoons. The downy peach
Blushing like youthful cheeks; the nectarine full
Of lavish juice.-

BIDLAKE.

Heaths and commons are now in all their beauty; the flowers of the various species of heath (erica) covering them with a fine purple hue. Ferns also begin to flower, the commonest sort of which is the fern or brakes (polypodium filix-mas); but the female (pteris aquilina) is the most beautiful plant.

Insects still continue to swarm; they sport in the sun from flower to flower, from fruit to fruit, and subsist themselves upon the superfluities of nature, The bee continues his labours.

From the SPANISH of MELENDEZ.
O'er yonder vale, industrious bee,
No longer range on busy wing;
Nor for your golden treasure spoil
The blooming children of the spring;
No more, when o'er the smiling world
The sun his early radiance throws,
Extract the pearly tears of morn

That fill the calyx of the rose :

Let the soft lily's virgin pride

To dread your pilf'ring kisses cease,

And let the whiter orange-flow'r

Breathe its ambrosial sweets in peace.

And let the blushing pink unspoiled
Guard for the fair its rich perfume,
That beauty's breast may show more white
Contrasted with the living bloom.

But on my Laura's budding lips

Alight with murmurs soft and still;
Ah! there your restless wing compose,
And rob their luscious sweets at will.

X

It is not the air only that abounds with insects at this season; ditches and stagnant pools of water are equally prolific of them. One of those most commonly found in these haunts, is the monoculus apus; and, as it is an excellent subject for the microscope, we shall give our readers some account of an examination of one by the aid of this powerful instrument.

This insect is about the size of a flea, and appears, when examined by the microscope, to be covered with a firm crustaceous skin, which opens under the belly of the animal, in the manner of a bivalve shell. This skin or shell, if it may be so called, is of a greenish colour, and full of indentures, which form very beautiful reticulations. It is so transparent, that the eggs which, when excluded, are carried on the back of the female till the young are produced, as well as the legs, body, and intestinal motion, plainly appear. This insect, to the sight unassisted by the microscope, appears to have but one eye, whence the genus monoculus receives its name. However the fact is, on account of the smallness of the head, both eyes seem united, being situated in the very middle of the forehead. Each eye is composed of a number of smaller ones, which appear like smooth, bright, hemispheric dots. It is worthy of remark, that the external motion of the eye, which insects generally want, is found in the utmost perfection in this creature. Each eye turns, as it were, on its own centre, which motion is produced by an elegant collection of muscles, that proceed from each eye like cords from a pulley. The skin which covers the head is so pellucid, that these muscles, with their contraction and lengthening, may at any time be seen with a first or second magnifier, and well-adapted light. The formation of this insect's branching forelegs is very curious: by the help of these and the other legs that are under the shell, its motions are performed in the water with great velocity.

The young of this insect are endowed with a very