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globe, and that its depth was every where the same; and though this supposition greatly simplifies the consideration, it is not really the case; for not only is its surface greatly diversified with land, but its depth also presents the greatest variations; and both these modify the general conclusion which have been derived from the preceding theory. These, combined with local circumstances, often cause the tides at any given place not only to differ greatly from that which ought to result from the general theory, but also from the same phenomena, at places not very distant from it. The action of the Sun and Moon upon any space covered with water is the greater in proportion to the extent and depth of the fluid; for the impressions which each molecule of the fluid receives is communicated to the whole mass; and on this account the action of the Sun and Moon, which are insensible upon an insulated molecule, produce such remarkable effects on the whole ocean. Hence we perceive the reason why the flux and reflux are so small in narrow seas; as the Black sea, the Caspian, the Mediterranean, and the Baltic. The direction of the coasts, likewise, has a great influence upon the height and time of the flux in local situations; for when these oppose the general action of the waters, and confine them within certain limits, these waters must accumulate there, and both the height and duration of the tide be increased. The shape of the seas, the directions of their coasts, and their communications with each other, as well as their extent and depth, must also affect the height, the time of high water, and the duration of the tides; and when these are duly considered, and their particular effects fully estimated, they will be found sufficient to account for these anomalies in the phenomena, which constant observation establishes, and which therefore confirm the general theory and effects of gravitation rather than oppose them.

[To be continued.]

The Naturalist's Diary

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For NOVEMBER 1819.
Dark is the morn, and thro' the air
The spirit of the tempests flies:
Nature, of late so bright and fair,
Adorned with flowers of thousand dyes,

All beauteous to the view,
Now, shrinking from the tyrant blast,
Appears a desolated waste,
And reads this lesson to the mind,
Such is the fate of human kind,

So sorrowful, yet true.
The voice of melody, that late
Re-echoed to the listening grove,
Has it, alas! so short a date
Is all on wbich we fix our love

So perishing and frail ?
'Tis but as yesterday, the scene
In varied robes of cheerful green,
From early morn to closing day,
Looked rich, and beautiful, and gay,

And told a lovelier tale.
NOVEMBER comes—and at bis call
The genius of the storm awakes:
Flow’rs fade, and leares deciduous fall
The vision flies—the enchantment breaks,

And vanishes away.
Now, drenched with cold and cheerless rains,
The Shepherd ’tends bis fleecy care,
And wetshod traverses the plains,
Awhile with summer-beaäty fair:
In his sad eye and aching breast,
In all this moral stands confest,

That Life's a Summer's day. NOVEMBER is, usually, a very gloomy month, yet there are some intervals of clear and pleasant weather : the mornings are, occasionally, sharp, but the hoarfrost is soon dissipated by the Sun, and a fine open day follows. The trees are now stripped of their foliage. See our last volume, p. 294. On the decay and fall of the leaf, see also T. T. for 1817, p. 333, and in the Naturalist's Diary, for October and

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November, in our former volumes. A popular description of Forest Trees, alphabetically arranged, at the close of the different months, will be found in T. T. for 1816.

The Virginia-creeper (hedera quinque-folia) is particularly rich and beautiful in the autumnal months, with its leaves of every hue, from a bright to a dark green and deep crimson.

That highly-esteemed fish, the salmon, now ascends rivers to deposit its spawn in their gravelly beds, at a great distance from their mouths; thus described by an old poet:

As when the Salmon seeks a fresher stream to fiud;
Which hither from the sea comes, yearly, by his kind,
As he tow'rds season grows; and stems the watery tract,
Where Tivy, falling down, makes a high cataract,
Forced by the rising rocks that there her course oppose,
As tho' within her bounds they meant her to inclose:
Here, when the labouring fish does at the foot arrive,
And finds that by his strength he does but vainly strive;
His tail takes in his mouth, and, bending like a bow
That's to full compass drawn, aloft himself doth throw;
Then springing at his height, as doth a little wand,

That bended end to end, and started from man's hand. In this month, in the year 1817, which was a wet season and very mild, the garden was still gay with holyoaks, marigolds, periwinkle, wallflower, carnation, rose-campion, double daisy, purple primrose, scorpio senna, St. John's wort, mignionette, Michaelmas daisy, golden rod, honeysuckle, rocket, veronica spicata, sweet pea, bog ranunculus, polyanthus, crysanthemums, hepaticas, and mezereon berries. The sallow also disclosed its grey hairy catkins, the hazel its male catkins, and the honeysuckles put out fresh leaf-buds. In the fields, the thistle and the knohweed displayed their rich purple flowers; the yellow of the charlock looked gay amid the green of the turnips, or upon the fallows; and the bramble showed its flowers along with its black berries in the hedges.

What were in summer • the fallows grey' are now green with young rye and wheat. If the autumn and

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early part of the winter continue very open, the wheat grows too luxuriantly, and gets what is called winter-proud. Frost, therefore, is very useful in checking this.

The Close of Summer.
Farewel, ye banks, where late the primrose growing,
Among fresh leaves its pallid stars displayed,
And the ground-ivy's balmy flowers blowing,
Trailed their festoons along the grassy shade.
Farewel! to richer scenes and Summer pleasures,
Hedge-rows, engarlanded with many a wreath,
Where the wild roses hang their blushing treasures,
And to the evening gale the woodbines breathe.
Farewel! the meadows, where such various showers
Of beauty lurked, among the fragrant hay ;
Where orchis bloomed with freaked and spotted flowers,
And lychnis blushing like the new-born day.
The burning dog-star, and the insatiate mower,
Have swept or withered all this foral pride;
And mullein's now, or bugloss' lingering flower,
Scarce cheer the green lane's parched and dusty side.
His busy sickle now the month's-man wielding,
Close are the light and fragile poppies shorn,
And while the golden ears their stores are yielding,
The azure corn-flowers fall among the corn.
The woods are silent too, where loudly flinging
Wild notes of rapture to the western gale,
A thousand birds their hymns of joy were singing,
And bade th' enchanting hours of Spring-time hail !
The stock-dove now is heard, in plaintive ineasure,
The cricket shrill, and wether's drowsy bell ;
But to the sounds and scents of vernal pleasure,

Music and dewy airs, a long farewel !' The stock-dove (columba enas), one of the latest winter birds of passage, arrives from more northern regions, towards the end of this month. The females and young of the brown or Norway rat now leave their holes at the sides of ponds and rivers, to which they had betaken themselves in the spring, and repair

Conversations on Nutural History, by C. Smith, (vol. i, p. 189); a delightful book for young persons of either sex, but particularly adapted to females.

to barns, out-houses, corn-stacks, and dwellings. See T. T. for 1817, p. 338. Moles now make their nests, in which they lodge during the winter, and which are ready for depositing their young in the spring. These are distinguished by being of a larger size than the common mole-hill, and are lined with dried grass, leaves, &c.

The woodman now repairs to the woodlands to fell coppices, underwood, and timber. . Some particulars of forest scenery, in this month, are noticed in our last volume, p. 297.

The RUSTIC Cor.
Nor is that cot, of which fond fancy draws
This casual picture, alien from our theme.
Revisit it at morn ; its opening latch,
Tho' penury and toil within reside,
Shall
pour

thee forth a youthful progeny
Glowing with health and beauty (such the dower
Of equal Heaven): see how the ruddy tribe
Throng round the threshold, and with vacant gaze
Salute thee; call the loiterers into use,
And form of these thy fence, the living fence
That graces what it guards. Thou think’st perchance
That, skilled in nature's heraldry, thy art
Has, in the limits of yon fragrant tuft,
Marshalled each rose, that to the eye of June
Spreads its peculiar crimson; do not err.
The loveliest still is wanting, the fresh rose
Of innocence it blossoms on their cheek,
And lo, to thee they bear it! striving each,
In panting race, who first shall reach the lawn,
Proud to be called thy shepherds. Want, alas !
Has o'er their little limbs her livery hung,
In many a tattered fold, yet still those limbs
Are shapely; their rude locks start from their brow;
Yet on that open brow, its dearest throne,
Sits sweet simplicity. Ah, clothe the troop
In such a russet garb as best befits
Their pastoral office; let the leathern scrip
Swing at their side, tip thou their crook with stee,
And braid their bats with rushes;
Assign his station : at the close of

eve,
Be it their care to pen in hurdled cote
The Aock, and when the matin prime returns,
Their care to set them free; yet watching still
The liberty they lend, oft shalt thou hear

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