TOPICS OF THE DAY.
THE TRUE ENGLISH SUMMER.
TEE conventional winter and summer of England do not corre- spond with the natural seasons. Something like the discrepancy between the statements in the almanacka and the actual phtenornena of nature which was creeping in before the reform of the calendar, only on a larger scale, may be noted between our business and our weather seasons. The natural winter of England ends at the latest in June. This year the conventional winter has lasted till the end of August ; and the winter of London society will not commence till after Christmas, be the weather what it may.
At bottom there is always some substratum of a natural cause for the most wayward extravagancies of society. With a little pains, a plausible defence might be •set up for the hoops of Queen Anne's day -or the trunk-hose of Dutchmen of the olden time ; and our modern habit of inverting the order of nature, and not only calling summer and winter respectively by each other's names, but using them as we call them, admits of a reason- able apology.
On an average, thelatter months of the year in England are far pleasanter than the early. We would not depreciate the fascinations of the young spring, on those rare occasions when May really is what poets call it ; nor do we shrink from the most fervent caresses of June, wlen June is whatit ought to be. But the truth is, that the young year in England is like most young people—very charming when in the mood, but wayward and capricious, and not to be relied •upon as a uniformly agreeable companion. Cleo- patra was verging towards forty when Mark Antony, free to throw the handkerchief to the younger-beauties of a Whole world, lost the world and all for love of her ; and Othello when he charmed Desdemona was declined into the vale of years. So it is with our English seasons. The earlier months have •their in- termitting bursts of dazzling, overpowering beauty ; but it is rarely before September or the dose of August that the year ripens into that full development, uniformity, and -equability of beauty, that can tempt a prudent man to make a constant associ- ate of it.
Hence our Anglican inversion of the order of nature. All who have the power of choice make •the less friendly months the time of their resort to cities in pursuit of business and such pleasures as cities yield. 'The months in which the open fields can be most fully •enjoyed are •devoted to the country. The fresh and tender green of May, the opening flowers, may tempt men for a day or j
two from the smoky and jostling streets ; but a week of incle- ment weather follows, warning -them not to -be-too hasty in relin- quishing the snugness of town and its in-door resources. The heat of the Dog-days makes them languish for leafy shades, and brooks inspiring a sense of coolness by their very sound ; but the weather is still capricious, and it is felt that there is no hurry. Men daily on the verge of the country in spring and summer as bathers dip their feet in -the water and draw back with a shiver, unable to -muster courage for the phinge. But the steady settled weather of early autumn presents attractions irresistible, and the mysterious half-sad charms of the waning year are as tenacious of their hold as bird-lime. Day after day is added by the fascinated sojourner in the country, till he awakens to a consciousness that Christmas is already past, and hurries back to town, with its led- gers and committees, its throng of business, legal, political, and commercial, and its splendid but jading pursuit of nocturnal plea- sure. Autumn and early winter—gorgeous in show, with their bracing yet not ungenial atmosphere, are indeed the health-giving and pleasurable seasons of England: •but it has 'been settled once for all that summer must be -delightful and winter dreary ; so we agree to call the season we like best by the name most re- dolent of agreeable associations. There is no season that for substantial unalloyed enjoymemt can surpass -the legitimate September and 'October of England— such a September as we are now favoured with. There is a pe- culiar beauty about the thin silvery ground-mists of early morn- ing, with the long transparent spider-threads floating suspended in them, and in the thick dew on grass and bush reflecting all the prismatic colours. There is a charm unspeakable in the deep violet tints of the earth whidh immediately precede the sunset, in the broad belt of orange which follows the sun's disappearance, dying away upwards through delicate green into the pure blue flecked with a few light glaids of vermillion or purple. And the slumberous stillness of mid-day, with its attempered warmth, is inferior to neither. The golden yellow of the stubble- field, and the rich browns of the fellows, are rapidly giving way 'to the unrivalled perennial green of England's fields and meadows • the trees, though less luxuriant in their foliage, are green still, but with here and there sprinklings of au- tumn's tints, like the first grey hairs mingling with the dark of a man in the pride and power of life : the gorgeous dahlias, and other flowers which reserve themselves to crown the ripened rear, with the abundant mellow fruitage, enrich. the shrubbery. Nature has reached the acme of beauty ; the air is bracing and enlivening; and the short trill of the red-breast has an inspi- riting influence that rivals, in its way, the more prolonged and luscious notes with which the nightingale lent life to the earlier year. The characteristic of the season is subdued cheerfulness and full power of conscious action ; it is bustling, effective, self- regulating life.
All animated nature is on -the alert and working,' `tindepreesed by lassitude. The wain with its high-piled vegetable stores grates beneath the hedgerows speckled with alternate sun and shade ; the ploughehare flashes in the sun as it turns the furrow ; the sportsman presses briskly on, where his sleek pointer now appears, now disappears, as it follows the tainted gale through the luxuriant green crops ; the whistle and shout of the rural labourer, the dropping shot of the sportsman, the choral laugh of happy idlers, and the lively din of autumnal birds, blend and intermingle. The sea-shore with the wide ex- panse of waters sparkling in the sun-light, the breezy mountain- top with glen and corrie seen in rugged grandeur far below, the undulating plains where tillage alternates with woodland, all have their peculiar beauties. There is a vigorous freshness in the season, which sympathizes with the practical self-possessed character of Englishmen, and perhaps helps to inspire it. All our favourite athletic sports can now be pursued without impediment from storm or oppressive heat. And hence it comes that Englishmen do and will continue most to affect the country at the period of the waning year. Let other peoples rejoice in the season of flowers, the season of fruit for us. The rich beauty of harvest yields us most content the sharp bite of ale-brewing October has charms for us ; and there is a strange attraction in the season of hoar-frosts, when clusters of icy needles flashing in the sun have nipped the garniture of leaves on our old oaks and elms. As jolly fellows make night their day, so we make autumn and winter our spring and summer. When at last forced back to town, we leave even the bare, bleached, drenched wintery fields, with as much linger- ing reluctance as Falstaff left his tavern, at what others would have called an unseasonable hour, muttering, " Now comes in the sweetest morsel of the night, and we must hence and leave it unpicked."
Previous page
