"I am now preparing for the press 'The Book of the
Seasons,' a volume of prose and poetry, intended to
furnish the lover of nature with a remembrancer, to put
him in mind, on the opening of each month, of what he
may look for in his garden, or his country walks; a
notice of all remarkable in the round of the seasons,
and the beautiful in scenery,--of all that is pleasant
in rural sights, sounds, customs, and occupations. I
hope to make it, if I am favoured with health, in a
little time, both a pleasant and original volume, and
one which may do its mite towards strengthening and
diffusing that healthful love of nature which is so
desirable in a great commercial country like this,
where our manufacturing population are daily spreading
over its face, and cut off themselves from the
animating and heart-preserving influence of
nature,--are also swallowing up our forests and heaths,
those free, and solitary, and picturesque places, which
have fostered the soul of poetry in so many of our
noble spirits. I quite envy thy residence in so bold
and beautiful a region, where the eye and the foot may
wander, without being continually offended and
obstructed by monotonous hedge-rows, and abominable
factories. If thou couldst give, from the ample stores
of thy observant mind, a slight sketch or two of
anything characteristic of the seasons, in
_mountainous_ scenery especially, I shall regard them
as apples of gold. I am very anxious to learn whether
any particular customs or festivities are kept up in