is too loveable, not to live with the English language. A thousand times has this description been quoted, yet here, once more, shall the latter part of it appear :

"At church, with meek and unaffected grace,
His looks adorn'd the venerable place;

Truth from his lips prevail'd with double sway,

And fools, who came to scoff, remain'd to pray.
The service past, around the pious man,

With ready zeal each honest rustic ran;
Even children follow'd with endearing wile,

;

And pluck'd his gown, to share the good man's smile;
His ready smile a parent's warmth express'd,
Their welfare pleas'd him, and their cares distress'd
To them his heart, his love, his griefs were given,
But all his serious thoughts had rest in heaven-——
As some tall cliff that lifts its awful form,

Swells from the vale, and midway leaves the storm,
Tho' round its breast the rolling clouds are spread,
Eternal sunshine settles on its head."

CHAPTER XXIII.

COUNTRY PICKINGS KNOWN TO EVERYBODY.

All seasons of the year grateful to a lover of nature.-Influence of sylvan scenery.-Nature is ever beautiful.-The stone quarry.-The glowworm.- -Cattle among the buttercups.-The way-side spring.-Lambs at play.—The rookery.—Coppices. — The gnarled old oak.— The secluded lane.-Moss-covered walls.-Violet banks.-Old ruins.

THERE is no day of the year, nor hour of the day, in which the country, in the eye of a lover of nature, is not interesting to gaze on; yet are there seasons and moods of mind, when the heart yearns with more than common ardour for moors and mountains, green fields and woods and waters, and then, sweet it is, indeed, to give up our whole being to the peaceful and joyous influence of rural scenery. What is there in wealth and splendour? What in the pomps and vanities of the world, with all their feverish excitements, that yields us half so much pleasurable tranquillity and deep delight as the calmness, the evervarying beauty, and the gathered glories of sylvan solitudes? In quiet scenes how the delicious stillness sinks into our souls!-and when the warbling of the grove bursts upon us, or the wind rises, or the rejoicing sun lights up the East, or the West, with a flood of effulgency, what delight animates the eye, and what thankfulness comes gushing up into the heart! O nature, I love thee dearly!

Whether I view thee in the lonely glen;

Where vales recline, or prouder mountains rise;
What time the moon is gliding soft, or when

Thy glorious sun, careering through the skies,

Throws round creation, his resplendent dyes;
Or where wild ocean's endless wonders be;
Still art thou beautiful to my 'rapt eyes :-
Thy mighty Maker in thy face I see,

And in my secret spirit bend and honour thee.

Though no rural spot could be found the exact counterpart of another, yet are there many scenes so like in their general features, that they instantly bring before us other scenes of a similar character. This general resemblance is rarely observable in a whole landscape, it being, almost always, limited to an individual part. We have never seen two prospects agreeing in all things, but we have seen hundreds of trees, rocks, and ponds bearing a strong likeness to what we have seen before.

Every one has seen in the middle of a sloping meadow a dry stone quarry with a jutting sandstone rock overhanging it, surmounted with an oak tree and brushwood, and prickly shrubs of various kinds, the sides of the quarry being richly hung with creepers and pendant plants—the whole forming a cool delightful shelter in the blaze of day, and a sweet and alluring solitude at eventide. There the throstle warbles, and the blackbird pours his melodious music, and there the lover of nature muses, and moralizes and marvels at the beauty of the place.

Every one has seen, at night, a glow-worm on the mossy bank below the wood, shining like some distant taper in a cottage window, while the grey mist has partly hidden the objects around. I love to gaze on the tiny flame deep in

the moss of the green grass.

"There is an unobtrusive blaze

Content in lowly shades to shine;
How much I wish, while yet I gaze,
To make thy modest merit mine!"

M

Every one has seen cattle in the meadow amongst buttercups, clearing away the fresh grass, sweeping it into their mouths with their tongues; lying down in the hilly pasture, chewing their cud; standing up to their knees in the brook, slaking their thirst, and in the wantonness of profusion, letting the water run down in silvery streams from their mouths; we have watched them too, struggling up the steep acclivity from the river brink, one after another, showing with magic suddenness their beautiful forms, their dappled bodies and their snow-white bosoms; and waiting in the fold-yard till blithesome Betty made her appearance with her pail.

Every one has seen by the way-side, a spring scooped out of the sandstone rock, overshadowed with spreading hawthorn, hung round with lichens and creepers of green and crimson, and adorned with slender hare-bell and other flowers. The moment you approach the spot, a frog who seems almost to sit there for the purpose, leaps plump into the water, and gracefully striking out with his long yellow legs, finds his way to the bottom. Could the fountain speak it might say,

"Gentle reader! see in me

An emblem of true charity;
For while my bounty I bestow
Unheard, unseen, I ever flow,

And I have fresh supplies from heaven,

For every cup of water given."

Every one has seen lambs at play in the hilly field; nor is a simpler, a more joyous, or a more heart-affecting rural sight to be gazed on.

"A few begin a short, but vigorous race,

And indolence abashed soon flies the place;
Thus challenged forth, see thither, one by one,
From every side assembling playmates run;

A thousand wily antics mark their stay,

A starting crowd, impatient of delay.

Like the fond dove from fearful prison freed,

Each seems to say, 'Come, let us try our speed !'
Away they scour, impetuous, ardent, strong,
The green turf trembling as they bound along ;
Adown the slope, then up the hillock climb,
Where every mole-hill is a bed of thyme ;
There panting stop; yet scarcely can refrain ;
A bird, a leaf, will set them off again :
Or, if a gale with strength unusual blow,
Scattering the wild-briar roses into snow,
Their little limbs increasing efforts try,

Like the torn flower the fair assemblage fly."

We have all seen a grove of tall elms, with a colony of rooks settled in their tops. The wind has been blowing, the trees have been rocking, the boughs have been bending, the young rooks have been cawing, and the old ones have been feeding them with worms and grubs obtained from the neighbouring ploughed fields.

We have all seen coppices full of secluded nooks, of shady bowers and pleasant pathways, so abounding in straggling blackberries and clustering hazel-nuts, that we could have built ourselves a hut there, and dwelt as happy hermits, wandering and musing, and listening to the throstle's song.

"There primrose groups are yearly seen
Peeping beneath their curtain green,
With aromatic mint beside,
And violets in purple pride.
In gay festoons, o'er hazles thrown,
Hang many a woodbine's floral crown ;
The briar-rose, too, that woos the bee,
And thyme, that sighs its odours free;