ious qualities of the air, and to breathe forth a purer atmosphere, so it seems to me as if they drew from us all sordid and angry passions, and breathed forth peace and philanthropy. There is a serene and settled majesty in woodland scenery, that enters into the soul, and dilates and elevates it, and fills it with noble inclinations. The ancient and hereditary groves, too, that embower this island, are most of them full of story. They are haunted by the recollections of the great spirits of past ages, who have sought for relaxation among them, from the tumult of arms, or the tails of state, or have wooed the muse beneath their shade. Who can walk, with soul unmoved, among the stately groves of Penshurst, where the gallant, the amiable, the elegant Sir Philip Sidney passed his boyhood; or can look without fondness upon the tree that is said to have been planted on his birth-day; or can ramble among the classic bowers of Hagley; or can pause among the solitudes of Windsor Forest, and look at the oaks around, huge, gray, and time-worn, like the old castle towers, and not feel as if he were surrounded by so many monuments of long-enduring glory? It is, when viewed in this light, that planted groves, and stately avenues, and cultivated parks, have an advantage over the more luxuriant beauties of unassisted natate. It is that they teem with moral associations, and keep up the ever-interesting story of human existence.

We can only make way for another extract, which is in that style of quaint humour in which Knickerbocker's History of New York is composed. Hard by the Hall was an ancient rookery, the occupants of which are thus described:

The rooks are looked upon by the Squire as a very ancient and honourable line of gentry, highly aristocratical in their notions, fond of place, and attached to church and state; as their building so loftily, keeping about churches and cathedrals, and in the venerable groves of old castles and manor-houses, sufficiently manifests. The good opinion thus expressed by the Squire put me upon observing more narrowly these very respectable birds; for I confess, to my shame, I had been apt to confound them with their cousins-german the crows, to whom, at the first glance, they bear so great a family resemblance. Nothing, it seems, could be more unjust or injurious than such a mistake. The rooks and crows are, among the feathered tribes, what the Spaniards and Portuguese

are among nations, the least loving, in

consequence of their neighbourhood and similarity. The rooks are old-established housekeepers, high-minded gentlefolk, that have had their hereditary abodes time out of mind; but as to the poor crows, they are a kind of vagabond, predatory, gipsy race, roving about the country without any settled home; "their hands are against every body, and every body's against them," and they are gibbeted in every corn-field. Master Simon assures me that a female rook, that should so far forget herself as to consort with a crow, would inevitably be disinherited, and indeed would be totally discarded by all her genteel acquaintance.

Nor must I avoid mentioning, what, I grieve to say, rather derogates from the grave and honourable character of these ancient gentlefolk, that, during the architectural season, they are subject to great dissensions among themselves; that they make no scruple to defraud and plunder each other; and that sometimes the rookery is a scene of hideous brawl and commotion, in consequence of some delinquency of the kind. One of the partners generally remains on the nest to guard it from depredation; and I have seen severe contests, when some gly neighbour has endeavoured to filch away a tempting rafter that had captivated his eye. As I am not willing to admit any suspicion hastily that should throw a stigma on the general character of so worshipful a people, I am inclined to think that these larcenies are very much discountenanced

by the higher classes, and even rigorously punished by those in authority; for I have

now and then seen a whole gang of rooks fall upon the nest of some individual, pull it all to pieces, carry off the spoils, and even buffet the luckless proprietor. I have concluded this to be some signal punishment inflicted upon him, by the officers of the police, for some pilfering misdemeanor ; or, perhaps, that it was a crew of bailiffs carrying an execution into his house.

Of a work like the present, only a very inadequate idea can be conveyed by means of extracts. There is also an interesting portion of it, from which we have not ventured to levy any contribution, and which we call only notice very passingly. We allude to the specimens of story-telling with which the unvaried events of the Hall are occasionally relieved. Our readers will still recollect, with unabated delight, the matchless examples of the author's talents in this species of composition, which are contained in the Sketch-Book; and if

there is not any thing in the present volume so full of deep interest and pathos as the "Pride of the Village," or so exquisitely humorous as the story of "Rip Van Winkle,"-" Annette Delarbre" and the "Stagecoach Romance," are only inferior to those earlier effusions of the same genius, and are in all respects worthy descendants of the same illustrious stock. Among the longest of these narrative sketches is the "Student of Salamanca," a romantic Spanish love-tale, containing a superabundance of fine things, rich descriptions, and hair-breadth escapes; garnished with the mysterious character and studies of an alchymist, the terrors of the Inquisition, and the glories of an auto-da-fé: And in winding up the complicated incidents of this piece, the author strikingly evinces the vigorous efforts he is determined to make, that all may, at every hazard, end well. "Annette Delarbre," though not so lengthy, nor so much laboured, is more touchingly beautiful: it describes the long mournful progress of a hopeless affection in a female bosom, embittered by feelings of remorse for the unkind treatment of her devoted lover, till the powers of reason sink before the violence of her passion, and madness benumbs the consciousness of the anguish which nothing can remove. But, in concluding, the same bonhommie is again displayed; the hero returns in safety, Annette is restored to the use of her faculties, and to the arms of her forgiving and affectionate Eugene, and the reader is comfortably assured, on the word of a worthy priest, that they have been happily married, and that a handsomer or lovelier couple is not any where to be seen. "The Stout Gentleman, a Stage-coach Romance," is a most humorous satire on those writers of the Radcliffe school who delight in investing their personages with darkness and mystery; and "Dolph Heyliger," from the manuscript of the late Diedrich Knickerbocker, exhibits all the grotesque naïf drollery of that most witty of historians. Upon the whole, we can safely recommend this work, as containing a rich store of pure unalloyed enjoyment. The partialities and leanings of the author are all in favour of

pe

goodness of character, simplicity of manners, and refined, yet natural feeling; and we consider it also culiarly deserving our recommenda tion, as a work likely to be extensively read by the youth of both sexes, whose unchilled sensibilities lead them, in particular, to delight in such Utopian scenes of gay romance, and to sympathize with those somewhat too flattering representations of humanity, with which he has peopled them; especially as those writings which possess the same sort of interest are very rarely so innocuous and moral in their tendency.

HUMAN happiness is the result, not of apathy or inactivity, or of that "Nil admirari" of the poet, which, according to his ironical statement, is the only thing which can render and continue a man happy. The fact is, that we are happy, not in proportion to the fewness of our desires, or of the means of gratifying them; but precisely in an inverse ratio, in respect of all innocent desires and gratifications, at least. The oyster drinks in the sea-water, closes its shell, and is satisfied. The sloth gorges, drops, and then whines itself, through repletion, into a comfortable state of torpidity. The ox grazes, seeks the stream, and ruminates at ease, in the midst of the meadow-grass. The shepherd's cur clears the laggins of his master's "cog," licks the rainwater from his feet, reposes on his plaid-corner, and has not a desire unsatisfied. Man alone is possessed of appetites and desires of a more elevated and varied cast; and in proportion as he extends, multiplies, and strengthens these, (under such limitations, always, as reason and good feeling prescribe,) in an equal proportion will be his enjoyment of life, his perception of that pleasure and delight, of which he is created so eminently susceptible. Why is youth, in particular, so capable of exqui

# 66 Paucity," says the critic. "Fewness," says my Uncle. Go on!

site, and almost ceaseless enjoyment? Why is every passing hour furnished with the means of eliciting from the young heart the breathings and affections of happiness? Why! but from this cause, that the whole frame and endowments, both of head and heart-both of imagination and sympathy, are then plastic, and capable of being acted upon from every contiguous relationship. There exists an exciting, and arousing, and arresting novelty, and freshness, and strength, in every impression; combined with, and accommodated to a corresponding capability of apprehension in, and over his whole system. A boy is a kind of moving barometer, acted upon, and indicating the influence of every element around him. He is fond of novelty; the world, up from the wood in and through which his infancy ranged, to the uttermost descry of an extensive horizon, is before and around him. He delights in variety; it is the game he is constantly endeavouring to start, and ever at the same time hunting down. There are games enow in the list of school amusements, to meet and satisfy this urgent and clamorous propensity. He is always in earnest; he enters into every thing about which he is occupied, with a singleness of heart, with a keenness and alacrity which are peculiar to his years. This disposition, likewise, is met by a corresponding enthusiasm in his fellows, and by a kind of virgin entireness and adaptedness, in the yet-unhackneyed objects of pursuit and enjoyment. He is always pushing, as it were, against the bars and the limits of restriction; and is apt, if the legitimate sources of enjoyment be denied him, to overleap the boundary, and to run wild in unlawful pastures; hence it follows, that whoever has in reality added one innocent and allowable, and gratifiable taste or affection, to the amount of his desires and pursuits, has, in reality, added to the sum of his happiness in a twofold interpretation, both in reference to the mischief prevented, and the benefit attained. It is for this reason that I am led to regard the taste which about this time I acquired for "Fishing," as well as the Friendship which I imbibed for the

VOL. XI.

humble individual through whose example and instructions that taste was induced and continued, as fortunate occurrences; and although obstructive, for the time, of my studies, and altogether incompatible with maternal authority, yet still, as opening up a new and a refreshing spring of healthful and exhilarating exercises.

Fishing, or angling with the rod for burn-trouts, is indeed a most interesting amusement. There is just enough of address required to admit and imply a gratifying admixture of self-approbation; and enough, at the same time, of chance or circumstance, over which the fisher has no control, to keep expectation constantly alive, even in the midst of the most deplorable fortune. Hence, a real fisher is seldom found, from a want of success merely, to relinquish his rod in disgust; but, with the true Christian, is patient in tribulation-rejoicing in hope: "Meliora spero" is the motto of his profession; and whilst mischance and misfortune haunt him, it may be, from stream to stream, and from pool to pool, he still looks adown the glen, and along the river's course he still regards, in anxious expectation, the alluring and more promising curl, the circulating and creamy froth, the suddenly-broken and hesitating gullet, and the dark, clayey bank, under which the water runs thick, and the foam bells figure bright and starry. He knows, that one single hour of successful adventure, when the cloud has ascended, and the shadow is deep, and the breeze comes upwards in the face of the stream, and the whole finny race are in eager expectation of the approaching shower, he knows that a single hour of this description will often, even down to the evening's close, repay him amply for a whole day of discouragement and misfor

your view? Your fishing-rod is sufficient, your line is in order, your hook is ready to pierce your very fingers, in the putting on of the bait. Companion, thank God, with the exception of the raven or the waterwag-tail, you have none. This is no hour for chirping grasshopper, or flaunting butterfly, or booming bee; the overshaded and ruffled water receives your bait with a plump, and ere it has travelled to the distance of six feet, it is nailed down in the wiel of a current stone, or has cut (against all the laws of hydrostatics) and cleaved the wave upwards, or has shot suddenly out at right angles with the river's course into brow-hold and dark-retired lodgement. You pull, recklessly and fearlessly, and directly in towards yourself; and flash after flash, flap after flap, comes there directly upon your breast, and your arms, and your legs, the well-formed, firm-made, spotted inmate of the waters. At length your direct pull is resisted,―you make it sideways; and out upon your stretch rushes the giant of the flood, indignant, capricious, ungovernable-making as if earth, air, and water, were alike his elements, and putting all your address and management fairly and fully to the test. By the tenacity, however, of your tackle, and the unremitted perseverance of your pull, he is at fast fairly worn out-his jaws open -you hold his head to the stream, and in a rushing overflow of his own native element, he is actually drowned, and dragged flat, and lumbering, and lifeless, to the beach.

Or it is "the fly" with which you are enjoying the river's fuller and more sea-ward flow. The wide extent of streamy pool is before you, and beyond your reach; fathom after fathom is pulled out, reeling from your pirn; but still you can scarcely drop the far fly into the tempting curf. The very tide boils with the play of trout-raising, as you gently and slowly bring your hooks homeward; but they come not home to you troutless; for, in addition to that tiny" par," which only embarrasses the greater movement, you have to contend with a pair of as yellow sides and broad lateral fins as it is convenient to overpower. Revolution after revolution is made at the bottom,

mid-way up, and at top of the flood, the "par" still holding a kind of satellite course around the larger and central attraction, and both bodies tending, by the gravitating power of a multiplying pirn, towards the shore. Scarcely a throw is made without success, till the creel-strap begins to cut your shoulder, and your bloody and gleeted fingers indicate an unusual extent of slaughter.

But even independently of the sport itself, all-bewitching to a true fisher as it unquestionably is, the concomitants and associations with which it is usually combined, are all of an elevating, invigorating, and heartexpanding nature. The resort of the fisher is amidst the retirements, of what, and what alone, can be justly denominated undegraded Nature.The furnace, and the manufactory, and the bleaching-green, and the tall, red, smoke-vomiting chimney, are his utter aversion and abhorrence. The village-the clachanthe city-all congregations of the dwellings and pursuits of men, he carefully avoids-he flies from them as from a spirit and a presence entirely inimical to his soul's life, and hope, and joy. He holds no communion, no voluntary intercourse with man, or with his petty and insignificant achievements: "he lifts his eyes to the hills," to these eternal and unchangeable, uncivilized, unsophisticated harbingers of God; and his steps lie through retired glen, and winding vale, and smiling strath, up to the misty eminence, and shieling-topped peak. He catches the first beams of the sun, not through the dim and disfiguring smoke of a city, but over the sparkling and diamonded spret, and above the unbroken and undulating line of the distant horizon. Again and again he imagines that the cloud streak which intersects and overlays the sun's ascending disk, actually destroys its rotundity; and whilst he looks away the oblong into the circular form, his line sparkles in the slanting beam, and his rod is pieced and prepared for the day's sport. He becomes acquainted, not only with earth, in all the fresh ness and attractiveness of Nature, but his "conversation is with Heaven;" he holds communion with the mistand with the wind-and with the

cloud-and with the sky. No varieties of temperature, or perceptible indications of atmospheric change escape him. He discovers the small cloud like the man's hand, which is soon to swell, and spread, and advance into a deluge; and he descries the almost imperceptible "blue-bore" in the west, which, under the most unpromising appearances, announces fair weather. He detects the thunder in his gleamy, and inflated, and towering wreaths of snow,-knows, from the hesitating and upward-bearing of the wind, from what quarter of the heavens the storm will set inand even in the croaking of the raven, the wheeling and mid-air suspense of the hawk, and the bleating and raking of the hill flocks, he can read prognostics of the approaching tempest. The great, and the unmeasured, and the incomprehensible, are around, and about, and within him. The stillness of solitude settles down upon his perceptions, and his imagination and feelings come into contact and combination with a presence and a power of infinity and peace. When patients are sent to Pitcaithly, or to sea-bathing quarters, their convalescence is more attribu table, perhaps, to a temporary removal from the cares and the disquietudes of business, and every-day thoughts, than to any virtue in the residence, or in the waters; and when a fisher has ascended to the source of the mountain and moss-born stream, the little world he left behind him in the plain beneath, is as completely banished, in all its carping and vexing influence, from his thoughts, as if with his altered position he had likewise changed his nature.

Much, indeed, O fascinating, but most innocent and uncloying Amuse ment, do I owe thee! Thou hast been to me the green exuberance of sunny enjoyment during my boyhood-thou hast mixed thy softening and soothing attractions with the sterner and

indispensable avocations of my manhood! When worn out by disease, and jaded, and tossed, and jarred, in all my more entire and intense affections,-by what shall I call it? the world, or the world's companions, Disappointment and Misfortune, thou hast never deserted or betrayed me. When Conscience has risen up against me, armed with the scorpions of Memory, and the inveteracy of Regret→→→ when my soul was almost ready to avoid a perception of its own intense misery, by a leap, and a dive, and precipitation of utter destiny,-thou hast taken me by the hand-whispered in my ear-conducted me into the wilderness, and tempted me into endurance, quiet, peace, comfort. When the hand of God has been upon me, and the staff, and the stay, and the solace, and "the joy," has been removed, and suddenly-when the lapse of a few hours has given me to know the uttermost boundary of a reversing and an afflictive Providence, and I have been driven forth companionless into the duties, friendless into the privileges, and without an associated sympathy into the enjoyments of existence; thou hast been ever nigh at hand, watching, and waiting to be consolatory; withdrawing me from my present, and reverting my attention to my former self. In the still, small voice of persuasive influence, rousing me into activity, and attaching me anew to the world, and to the life and the pursuits I had almost resolved to relinquish,—and for ever!

I shall never forget the circumstances which led to my initiation into all the mysteries of angling. I had found a sixpence upon the kirkroad, along which I passed towards school. With this piece of money, which felt all day as if it were burning its escape through the bottom of my pocket, I purchased, after schoolhours, and at the expence of a threemile walk, a penknife, with a smoothly polished joint-an amazing "back sprent," which clicked audibly as the knife shut, and a hartshorn haft, which had actually figured on the head of a real deer. As I was on my return homewards, dinnerless, and cutting to the very quick with hunger, yet stopping, from time to time, to unpocket, and open out my