But we have some other pretty sights belonging to the open country, which must not be passed over; and one which the whole year, in point of time, and the whole world, in point of place, can scarcely parallel. The Sunsets of September in this country are perhaps unrivalled, for their infinite variety, and their indescribable beauty. Those of more southern countries may perhaps match, or even surpass them, for a certain glowing and unbroken intensity. But for gorgeous variety of form and colour, exquisite delicacy of tint and pencilling, and a certain placid sweetness and tenderness of general effect, which frequently arises out of a union of the two latter, there is nothing to be seen like what we can show in England at this season of the year. If a painter, who was capable of doing it to the utmost perfection, were to dare depict on canvas one out of twenty of the Sunsets that we frequently have during this month, he would be laughed at for his pains. And the reason is, that people judge of pictures by pictures. They compare Hobbima with Ruysdael, and Ruysdael with Wynants, and Wynants with Wouvermans, and Wouvermans with Potter, and Potter with Cuyp; and then they think the affair can proceed no farther. And the chances are, that if you were to show one of the sunsets in question to a thorough-paced connoisseur in this department of Fine Art, he would reply, that it was very beautiful, to be sure, but that he must beg to doubt whether it was _natural_, for he had never seen one like it in any of the old masters!
Another singular sight belonging to this period, is the occasional showers of gossamer that fall from the upper regions of the air, and cover every thing like a veil of woven silver. You may see them descending through the sunshine, and glittering and flickering in it, like rays of another kind of light. Or if you are in time to observe them before the Sun has dried the dew from off them in the early morning, they look like robes of fairy tissue-work, gemmed with innumerable jewels.
Now, too, Thistle-down, and the beautiful winged seeds of the Dandelion, float along through the calm air upon their voyages of discovery, as if instinct with life.
Now, among the Birds, we have something like a renewal of the Spring melodies. In particular, the Thrush and Blackbird, who have been silent for several weeks, recommence their songs,--bidding good bye to the Summer, in the same subdued tone in which they hailed her approach.
