BLACKBERRIES.

New Zealand Times, Volume XXXIII, Issue 5525, 11 December 1878, Page 3

BLACKBERRIES.

(From the World.) The very word conjures up visions of long winding green lanes and happy merry little faces trooping gaily along ; for the blackberry season is tho innocent saturnalia of the children. Mushroom gathering is very well; hut raw mushrooms are not palatable, and after the dew is off the ground and the sun shines hot, it is time to go home. The dainty miss in spotless white frock and shady hat, raising herself on tiptoe to reach the finest and jettiest berry, tearing her delicate hands with a pout and a smile, and throwing back over her shoulder a laughing defiance, knows the happiness of real work.

And who comes here, cautiously tripping, face besmeared with purple Juice, and mother’s basket carefully tilted on one small, fat, brown gnu ? A lassie of five summers,, already fully aware that butter in winter is a scarce commodity, and that blackberry-jam is an excellent substitute. The rough boys of the'grammar school scamble and tear and pull at the thorny brambles, and fall into the. ditch with shouts of laughter and many cries of delight. The graceful clusters of briony are trampled under foot, and the clematis’s pale head sinks deeper ns the boys’ sticks -tug at and ruthlessly break down the branches in the hedgerow. The coral bunches of the dogwood tempt some urchin for the moment with their bright coloring; but soon ho throws them away for a fresh ecstasy of melting berry. Tho grazing cows look up mildly as the children swarm over the (fields In their eager search, prattling gaily as they go. Even thejbusy housewife finds time for an hoar or two in company with the little ones, as the baskets are piled higher and the tin cans of tho humble cottage are filled to overflowing. Old gossips tell you of the beneficent qualities of the blackberry—how, made into luscious Jam, it cures colds; how, in puddings, it is a panacea for nameless ills ; now it produces sleep and assists digestion. The herbs of tho field and tho simple brewings of our grandmothers are far too much despised in tho present day. With tho chemist’s shop ever at hand to dispense nauseous draughts and silvered pills, who goes to the fine old-fashioned recipes of fifty years ago? Violet-tea for fever, limo-flower infusion for colds, marshmallow for coughs, dandalion-wino for dyspepsia, cowslip - wine for sleeplessness,—all fragrant and harmless for evil, if not potent for good, Tho blackberry is gradually asserting its empire in England ; in Scotland it has long been highly appreciated and sought after. As the sun goes down, and long shadows stretch over the grass, tired little feet trot homewards, tho smallest proudly holding up its dirty frock or its blue-cotton pinafore filled with a iittlo store of fruit for its own or family delectation. Blackberry time coincides with tho harvest festivals. In every village church a strange business may bo observed ; female forms flit and go, curates swarm in and out, piles of branches and berries and bundles of corn are carried about; and at last all is ready. The congregation are ushered in to a metamorphosed place of worship,—above the font rise sheaves of wheat, resting on purplo leaves of the glorious Virginian creeper; around twino wreaths of blackberry; at the base nestle pale

yellow and rosy pumpkins in a bed of moss and variegated foliage; up as far as the altar the eye glances from wheat to flower, from flower to fruit, from fruit to leaf. Children’s longing looks follow the bunches of ripe blackberries that hang from the pulpit, as if in tempting mockery of safety, IYo hungry lips can reach them there, no greedy little hand dare to seize. They will make up for it next day when they are let loose in that most attractive of playgrounds—a lane between two high hedges, one tangle of creepers and flowers and berries, whore the elder-tree sways gently in the breeze, and the tall poplar nods its head, as if keeping time with the shouts of the merry groups around. Well for the country children to whom every day may be blackberry day ; but how about tho pale-faced atoms that haunt our courts and alleys, who inhale more dust thau air, and to whom fruit and flowers mean the battered plums of tho costermonger’s barrow or the faded primroses in tho street-hawker’s basket ? Possibly they have never even heard of blackberries, they are not likely to buy them, and it is impossible that they should ever pick them. The crisp fresh autumn feeling, tho October raciness of the air, the warm middays and chill dewy evenings are unknown wonders to them. The wealth of hedgerow delights are only approached, to their small imaginations, by the variegated stores of the toy-shop, the ver-milion-painted tin soldiers, or the blue-and-orange balls. O happy hours of childhood, when a range of the green fields, and liberty to pick and touch and throw away whatever you like is the impossible pitch of ectasy I Children’s pleasures are always natural, because they have not yet learnt to be artificial. If only the town children could be natural too, and not begin their lives as little jaded men and women, with the cjnical sly look and the impudent speech and the habits of dirt and wastefulness and woe-begone misery that lead to the treadmill and the halter ! Would that every grown person could have a fowl in his pot, and every child its annual blackberry expedition: a day of unsullied delights and sounds' ana russet leaves and golden sunsets, with the whirr of the partridge as it rises from the stubble-fields and cleaves the air with light and eager wings; a day full of restful contentment and bright activity; a day before illusions have waned and love’s idols are shattered.

Lovers, too, are fond of the blackberry bashes. With her mouth stuffed full of fruit, the rustic beauty finds it easy to encourage without embarrassment the rough attempts at courting of her swain. Much scope is there for delicate attentions in the shape of an extra large berry, clutched and caught after sundry snatches and divers rents in the garments. Thus one and all—maidens, children, lovers, even the old man on his crutches as he sallies forth to meet his grandchildren—are happy amongst the blackberries. Autumn, a grand benevolent Demeter, spreads out her varied stores, and clothes with splendid coloring the face of Nature, that is soon to he chill and glim. When the few short October days are over we must draw closer to the fire; we must seek home joys only; we must bear with equanimity pinched fingers and blue noses. Blackberry season is Nature’s last few carnival days before the Lent of the earth begins. .