"Like you we spent our studious youth; Then be your manhood like to ours— True to the sacred cause of truth, Alike in fair and stormy hours." Fair Oxford, England's other eye, Some worthier bard thy praise should tell; THE WREN. BY JOHN CLARE. WHY is the cuckoo's melody preferred, SCHOOL RECOLLECTIONS. BY DELTA. -They who in the vale of years advance, The light of morning on the fields of youth. THE morning being clear and fine, full of Milton's "vernal delight and joy," I determined on a saunter; the inclemency of the weather having for more than a week kept me a prisoner at home. Although now advanced into the heart of February, a great fall of snow had taken place; the roads were blocked up; the mails obstructed; and while the merchant grumbled audibly for his letters, the politician, no less chagrined, conned over and over again his dingy rumpled old newspaper, compelled "to eat the leek of his disappointment." The wind, which had blown inveterately steady from the surly north-east, had veered, however, during the preceding night, to the west; and, as it were by the spell of an enchanter, an instant thaw commenced. In the low grounds the snow gleamed forth in patches of a pearly white ness; but on the banks of southern exposure, the green grass and the black trodden pathway again showed themselves. The vicissitudes of twenty-four hours were indeed wonderful. Instead of the sharp frost, the pattering hail, and the congealed streams, we had the blue sky, the vernal zephyr, and the genial sunshine; the stream murmuring with a broader wave, as if making up for the season spent in the fetters of congelation; and that luxurious flow of the spirits, which irresistibly comes over the heart, at the re-assertion of Nature's suspended vigour. As I passed on under the budding trees, how delightful it was to hear the lark and the linnet again at their cheerful songs, to be aware that now "the winter was over and gone," and to feel that the prospect of summer, with its lengthening days and its rich variety of fruits and flowers, lay fully before us. There is something within us that connects the Spring of the year with the childhood of our existence, and it is more especially at that season, that the thrilling remembrances of long departed pleasures are apt to steal into the thoughts; the reawakening of nature calling us, by a fearful contrast, to the contemplation of joys that never can return, while all the time the heart is rendered more susceptible by the beauteous renovation in the aspect of the external world. This sensation pressed strongly on my mind, as I chanced to be passing the door of the village school, momentarily opened for the admission of one, creeping along somewhat tardily with satchel on back and shining morning face." What a sudden burst of sound was emitted- what harmonious discordwhat a commixture of all the tones in the vocal gamut, from the shrill treble to the deep under-hum! A chord was touched, which vibrated in unison; boyish days and school recollections crowded upon me; pleasures long vanished; feelings long stifled; and friendships—ay, everlasting friendships—cut asunder by the sharp stroke of death! A public school is a petty world within itself— a wheel within a wheel-in so far as it is entirely occupied with its own concerns, affords its peculiar catalogue of virtues and vices, its own cares, pleasures, regrets, anticipations and disappointments — in fact a Lilliputian fac-simile of the great one. By grown men, nothing is more common than the assertion, that childhood is a perfect elysium; but it is a false supposition that school days are those of unalloyed carelessness and enjoyment. It seems to be a great deal too much overlooked, that "little things are great to little men ;" and perhaps the mind of boyhood is more active in its conceptions-more alive to the impulses of pleasure or pain-in other words, has a more extended scope of sensations, than during any other portion of our existence. Its days are not those of lack-occupation; they are full of life, animation, and activity, for it is then we are in training for after life; and, when the hours of school-restraint glide slowly over, "like wounded snakes," the clock, that chimes to liberty, sends forth the blood with a livelier flow; and pleasure thus de G G rives a double zest from the bridle that duty has imposed, joy being generally measured according to the difficulty of its attainment. What delight in life have we ever experienced more exquisite than that, which flowed at once in upon us from the teacher's "bene, bene," -our own self-approbation, and release from the tasks of the day?-the green fields around us wherein to ramble, the stream beside us wherein to angle, the world of games and pastimes" before us, where to choose." Words are inadequate to express the thrill of transport, with which, on the rush made from the school-housedoor, the hat is waved in air, and the shout sent forth! Then, what a variety of amusements succeed each other. Every month has its favorite ones. The sportsman doth not more keenly scrutinize his calendar for the commencement of the trouting, grouseshooting, or hare-hunting season, than the younker for the time of flying kites, bowling at cricket, football, spinning peg-tops, and playing at marbles. Pleasure is the focus, which it is the common aim to approximate; and the mass is guided by a sort of unpremeditated social compact, which draws them out of doors as soon as meals are discussed, with a sincere thirst of amusement, as certainly as rooks congregate in Spring to discuss the propriety of building nests, or swallows in Autumn to deliberate in conclave on the expediency of emigration. Then how perfectly glorious was the anticipation of a holiday—a long summer day of liberty and ease! In anticipation it was a thing boundless and |