NATURE.

BY MISS JEFFREY.

I WOULD that I might wander far away,
Into some quiet valley's green recess,
Where not a sound should stir the peaceful day,
Save forest melodies, whose wild excess,
Blown by the passing winds, might gently sway
My soul from her dark thinkings, and repress
Cares which have worn away my happiness.

It were a pleasant thing to stray alone

'Mid palace trees, whose thick boughs intertwined
Make softened twilight of the gorgeous noon;
Or haply, 'neath some aged oak reclined,
Gather its fairy goblets; or, far-gone

In a rich dream of poësy, unwind
Rare spells to disenthral the prisoned mind:

To live alone with Nature; to unfold

Her seeming mysteries; to rove at will
Through her untrodden haunts; at will behold
Her varied forms of beauty-lake and hill,
And purple vintage, and the living gold
Of her full harvests; or at midnight still

Mark the bright stars their radiant course fulfil.

Eternal Nature! I have ever vowed

My worship unto thee; thy changeful moods Of summer loveliness and wintry cloud,

The majesty of thy deep solitudes,

My soul has loved: then, while the toiling crowd
Bow unto Fortune for her fancied goods,
Give me the silence of thy pathless woods.

NATURE.

BY JOHN CLARE.

How many pages of sweet Nature's book
Hath Poësy doubled down as favoured things:
Such as the wood leaves in disorder shook
By startled stockdove's hasty flapping wings;
Or the coy woodpecker that, tapping, clings
To grey oak trunks, till, scared by passing clowns,
It bounces forth in airy ups and downs

To seek fresh solitudes; the circling rings
The idle puddock makes around the towns,
Watching young chickens by each cottage pen:
And such are each day's party-coloured skies;
And such the landscape's charms o'er field and fen,
That meet the Poet's never weary eyes,
And are too many to be told again.

SURPRISES;

OR,

THE RETURN HOME.

BY MRS. OPIE.

It is, I believe, a general observation, that as one advances in life, persons and scenes recur to one's recollection which had for a considerable number years been utterly banished from it.

of

I know that I am constantly remembering names, faces, occurrences, and anecdotes, which had seemingly wholly disappeared from my memory, and which I welcome again with a sort of pensive interest and mournful pleasure, because they are associated with recollections of those removed from me by the hand of death, but who will ever live in my remembrance, till I am passed away like them, and “ my place

here shall know me no more."

In one of these visions of my earliest years, I frequently behold a tall, thin, pale, crippled old lady, of some consequence in our county, whom my parents greatly respected, and whom, young as I was, I had pleasure in visiting, for she abounded in anecdote, had moreover an agate snuff-box set in gold, and also a silver bonbonnière filled with bar

ley-sugar, to which I was occasionally permitted to find the way.

How vividly I can at this moment recall her to my mind! I can even hear the thick impeded tone of her voice; and the other day I told an amusing story which I am well convinced I have heard her relate. Not long ago the following anecdote pressed upon my mind as a long-forgotten acquaintance; - and I cannot but believe that this dear old lady in her high-backed chair was the original narrator, though in relating it myself I shall draw no doubt almost as much on the bank of imagination as on the bank of memory. But, be that as it may, I shall venture to tell it as it occurs to me, because it tends to illustrate the truth of the saying, that 66 a prophet has honour every where but in his own country;" and to prove that, at least in former times, persons might be even celebrated, courted, and distinguished in the world at large, and yet their relations and friends, if residing at a distance, might be wholly unconscious both of their talents and their renown.

Once on a time, and when the names of the famous and the infamous did not travel as far and as fast as they now do, for mail-coaches were not then invented, a young north countryman tramped up to London, with almost all his wardrobe on his back, and his purse slenderly filled with guineas, but his head full of learning, and what was better still, with great intellectual powers of various kinds. He had also self-denial, and unwearied industry; and at length, after long toiling days, and short nights, he

found himself suddenly raised into opulence, consequence, and fame, by the successful exertion of his talents, and his scientific knowledge, assisted no doubt by the fortunate circumstances which had called them into action. But his health required some relaxation; and as his heart yearned towards that tender mother who had been widowed during his absence, and the brothers and sisters, who were grown, since he saw them, out of childhood into maturity, he resolved to indulge himself in a visit to his native mountains; and with an eager, impatient heart, he set off on his long journey. My hero, whom I shall call William Deleval, was conscious of his high reputation, and no doubt enjoyed it; but when he first saw his native hills, and was at last welcomed by his mother and his family, he felt that there was a pleasure in the indulgence of natural affection far beyond any enjoyment which wealth could bestow; and while they hung round his neck, and welcomed the long absent wanderer home, the joys of family love banished awhile from his recollection the pleasures of gratified ambition. He soon discovered that his mother was wholly ignorant what a celebrated person she had the honour of entertaining; and as he travelled without a servant, and was as plainly dressed as a gentleman at that time of day could venture to be, it was not possible for her even to suspect that he was a man of property; and when he produced some handsome presents for herself and his sisters, she expressed her fears that he had laid out more money