Autumn hath commenced her short pauses of showers calms and storms and sunshine and shadow and with all her bustle she is nothing but a short preface before a large volume of ‘Winter’ though not yet come to drive us to the fireside He is giving us daily notice by dirty paths brimming dykes and naked fields that he is already on the way — it is now very pleasant to take walks in the morning and in fact at any time of the day though the mornings are misty and ‘the foggy dew’1 lies long on the grass — here is a drove leads us on its level sward right into the flaggy fens shaded on each side with white thorn hedges covered with awes of different shades of red some may be almost called red-black others brick red and others nearly scarlet like the coats of the fox hunters — now we have a flaggy ditch to stride which is almost too wide for a stride to get over — a run and jump just lands on the other side and now a fine level bank smooth as a bowling green curves and serpentines by a fine river whose wood of osiers and reeds make a pleasant rustling sound though the wind scarcely moves a single branch — how beautifull the bank curves on like an ornament in a lawn by a piece of water the map of ploughed field and grass ground in small alotments on the left hand with an odd white cottage peeping some where between the thorn hedges in the very perfection of quiet retirement and comfort and on the right hand the clear river with its copses of reeds and oziers and willow thickets and now and then a house peeps through where the willows are not so thick and showing trees loaded with apples of a dull red and too thick for lodges shows we are near the approach of a town and now the church spire2 looking rather large dimensions catches the eye like a jiant overtopping trees and houses and showing us his magnitude from half way up the tower to the weathercock and looks noble above his willow woods nothing looks so noble among country landscapes as church steeples and castle towers as fine houses and public edifices do among city scenery — tis pleasant as I have done to day to stand upon a length of Bridges3 and notice the objects around us there is the fine old Northborough castle4 peeping through the scanty foliage of orchards and thorn hedges and there is the beautifull Spire of Glinton Church towering high over the grey willows and dark wallnuts still lingering in the church yard like the remains of a wreck telling where their fellows foundered on the ocean of time — place of green Memorys and gloomy sorrows — even these meadow arches seem to me something of the beautifull having been so long a prisoner and shut up in confinement they appear somthing worthy of notice — to a man who has had his liberty they would appear nothing more then so many tunnels thrown over a few puddles that are dry three parts of the year but to me they are more interesting then a flight of arches thrown over a cascade in a park or even the crowded bridges in a great city — yonder is Maxey Tower church looking as if it was lighting up with sunshine when the Autumn sky is as gloomy as summer twilight and on the right peeping between the trees may be seen West Deepings crocketed Spire and on the left Glinton Mill goes sweeing away to the wind — how sweet and green the banks wind along on each side the meadow with now and then a single arch crossing the meadow drain through which one can see a bit of the bank on the other side and being weary looking out for steeples I will take the path down the north bank its green slopes look so pleasant though the wind blows chilly and the rustics face looks purple with cold — men are occupied in cutting the weeds from the drains to make a water course for the autumn rains — solitary persons are sideing up the hedges and thrusting the brushwood in the thin places and creeps which the swine made from one ground or field into another and stopping gaps made in harvest by gleaners and labourers — the larks start up from the brown grass in the meadows where5 a couple of flutters and f[I]ights and drops out of sight as suddenly again into the grass — now a flock of redcaps seven or eight together take flight from the sides of the bank and settle again in the hedges which are almost crimson with awes seeming as if they fed on the seeds of the ragwort as no thistles are near — a solitary crow and sometimes a pair fly with heavy wing just over head now and then uttering a solitary croak to warn their tribes around that a man is approaching and then make a sudden wheel round at the sight of the stick in ones hand perhaps mistaking it for a gun — the top stones of the walls of all the bridges I pass are full of two letter names rudely cut with a knife — spread hands — and feet — often true love knotts and sometimes figures meant for houses churches and flowers — and sheep hooks and some times names cut in full — the idle amusements of cowtending boys horse-tenders and shepherds — now a snipe with its pointed wings hurries up from the meadow dyke into the fields — the meadow lakes seen from the bank puts me in mind of school adventures and boyish rambles the very spots where I used to spend the whole Sundays in fishing while the bells kept chiming in vain — I cannot make out where all these feelings and fancys are gone too — The plot of meadows now dont look bigger then a large homestead and the ponds that used to seem so large are now no bigger then puddles and as for fish I scarcely have interest enough to walk round them to see if there is any — yon arches yonder with trees peeping above them and between them and where the traveller is hopping away wearily over them on the narrow road is Lolham Bridges — time makes strange work with early fancys the fancied riches and happiness of early life fades to shadows of less substance even then the shadows of dreams I sigh for what is lost and cannot help it— yet there is even calm spots in the stormiest ocean and I can even now meet happiness in sorrow the rural pictures or objects in these flats and meadows warms ones loneliness such as a rustic driveing his little lot of cows or sheep down the plashy droves and plucking a handfull of awes from the half naked hedges to eat as he goes on — The rawky mornings now are often frosty — and the grass and wild herbs are often covered with rime as white as a shower of snow — in the fen greensward closes the pewet or lapwing may be seen in flocks of two or three hundred together about Waldram Hall6 dabbling on the hedges [i.e. edges] of the lakes left by the rains — it is pleasing to see the woods of osiers by the river side fading yellow There are a few willow trees by the Hall or Cottage — where the crows sit in the old nests as if it was spring though perhaps they may do it to get from the cold for there is a little crizzling ice on the edges of the water in some places such as ruts and horsefeetings — Now the man is putting off his boat to ferry over the water where an odd passenger may now and then call to be ferried over the lake to the other bank or high road — the ozier hedges and holts are7 with yellow and the white thorn hedges are getting thin of leaves and so crowded with awes that bye and bye the fields will be dressed in nothing but crimson and scarlet — nature like simplicity is beautifull in every dress she chuses to put on with the seasons — even winter with his doublet of snows & hoar frost can make himself agreeable when he chuses to give people leave to go out of doors — I love to clamber over these bridge walls and when I get off the banks on the road I instinctively look both ways to see if any passengers are going or coming or carts or waggons passing — now here is a stile partitioning off somebodys portion of the bank but the middle rail is off so I stoop under to get through instead of climbing over it — there is a pair of harrows painted red standing on end against the thorn hedge and in another ground an old plough stands on its beam ends against a dotterel tree sometimes we see a roll lying in on one corner and broken trays and an old gate off the hooks waiting to be repaired till repairs are useless — even these rustic implements and appendages of husbandry blend with nature and look pleasing in the fields
[N6, 46-8]
1 ‘the foggy dew’: From the folksong, familiar to Clare.
2 church spire: Probably Deeping St James.
3 Bridges: The ‘Nine Bridges’ of the ‘Viaduct’ carrying the main Peterborough-Market Deeping road over the North and South Drains.
4 Northborough castle: Northborough Manor, built c.1320, known locally as Northborough castle.
5 where a couple of flutters: The addition of ‘they make’, as Tibble suggests, helps the sense.
6 Waldram Hall: North-east of Peakirk.
7 holts are …: It is possible that Clare has omitted a word here, such as ‘covered’, ‘tinged’ or ‘withered’.