With my hand beneath my head,

While strayed my eyes o'er Towy's flood,
Over hill and over wood,

From house to house, from hill to hill,

Till Contemplation had her fill.”

"Deli

In scenes like those of Grongar tranquility loves to repose, and solitude, beloved by the good and sought as a refuge by the great, the most delights to linger. cacy and distinction," says Sir William Temple, "make a man solitary." By a love of solitude, however, I am far from alluding to that misanthropic dislike of society which impels man to forsake his fellow in order to indulge a selfish and indignant passion. A desire of solitude of that nature is seldom engendered by a contemplation of Nature, which impels only to that description of retirement, the charms of which we may whisper to a friend. An idea realized in a picture of solitude, painted by Gaspar Poussin, illustrated by Balzac, and alluded to by Cowper :

I praise the Frenchman, his remark was shrewd,
"How sweet, how passing sweet, is solitude !"
But grant me still a friend in my retreat,

Whom I may whisper, "Solitude is sweet."

An affectionate friend does indeed illumine with a serene lustre that engaging society of solitude which, in a world like this, a cultivated mind frequently finds only in the sanctuary of its own bosom, when books are its friends, and the birds its companions.

In retirement statesmen recruit their mental strength, like Achilles stringing his bow, an eagle sharping his talons, or an elephant whetting his tusks. In retirement

the man of learning or genius strips himself of alk ornament, his thoughts become concentrated, and his desires moderated. To those devoted to worldly or to scientific pursuits it gives that temperate rest so necessary to recruit the weary organs of activity. It affords the leisure to arrange the materials of thought, to mature the labours of art, and to polish the works of genius. It lessens the anxieties of life, and relieves the mind from its frivolities.

But man, animated by the common impulses of his nature, can enjoy nothing to effect alone. Someone must lean upon his arm, listen to his observations, point out secret beauties, and become, as it were, a partner in his feelings, or his impressions are comparatively dull and spiritless. Pleasures are increased in proportion as they are participated; as roses, inoculated with roses, grow double by the process. Were it to shower down gold, we should scarcely welcome the gift, had we no friend to congratulate us on our good fortune. All the colors and forms of the natural world would fade before the sight, and every gratification pall upon our senses. How beautifully is this triumph of social feeling depicted in that passage of the Paradise Lost, where Eve addresses. Adam in language worthy, not only of the golden age, but of paradise!

With thee conversing I forget all time,

All seasons and their change: all please alike.
Sweet is the breath of morn, her rising sweet,
With charm of earliest birds; pleasant the sun,
When first on this delightful land he spreads
His orient beams, on herb, tree, fruit and flower,

Glistering with dew; fragrant the fertile earth
After soft showers; and sweet the coming on
Of grateful evening mild. Then silent Night,
With this her solemn bird, and this fair moon,
And these the gems of heaven, her starry train.
But neither breath of morn, when she ascends
With charm of earliest birds; nor rising sun
On this delightful land; nor herb, fruit, flower,
Glistering with dew; nor fragrance after showers;
Nor grateful evening mild; nor silent Night,
With this her solemn bird; nor walk by moon,
Nor glistering starlight, without thee is sweet."

1

CHAPTER X.

Life and Death in Nature.

LL living things exist, and feed, and grow, and gather strength that they may propagate their race. True, indeed, they may have a social and transient purpose to subserve as they are hastening on to their final goal, but all these are subordinate to the ultimate end-that of propagating and multiplying their kind. Unconsciously, and we had almost said unintentionally, this principle operates as much in the human family as in the lower animals. Wherever we may be, whatever we are working for, the secret aspiration and impulse of the heart is home, and our own fireside bright and sweet with conjugal affection:

"All thoughts, all passions, all delights,
Whatever stirs this mortal frame,

All are but messengers of love,

And feed his sacred flame."

And the reason why reproduction is the great end of physical existence is to be found in the fact that it is needful as a perpetual counterpoise to death. The wayside flower, when it has put forth all its summer blossoms, drops its seeds around its roots, or has them transported

by winds or birds to some neighbouring nook or field, and thus having fulfilled its mission of propagating its kind, sinks gently back upon the bosom of its mother earth and dies.

The love of offspring and the sweet charities of home are the mainspring of all human industry, and the source of life's greatest happiness. The mere lapse of years is not life. "To eat, to drink, to sleep, to be exposed to the darkness and to the light, to pace round the mill of habit, and to turn the wheel of wealth, to make reason our book-keeper, and to convert thought into an implement of trade: this is not life." *

"Life's more than breath, and the quick round of blood;
'Tis a great spirit and a busy heart.

We live in deeds, not years; in thoughts, not breaths;

In feelings, not in figures on a dial.

We should count time by heart-throbs; he most lives
Who thinks most, feels the noblest, acts the best."

FESTUS.

The world is not necessarily a "vale of tears; where there is shadow it is because there is sunshine not far off. Life's weeds and thorns are known by contrast with its surrounding flowers. There are more smiles in the world than tears. However long and dreary the winter may be, we know that the spring-time will come. When the mist rolls away from the mountain side the landscape stands before us robed in beauty. So with the mists and wintry days of human life; while they last they are painful, but when the mist lifts, we feel it was only the forerunner of something bright and good. Old age is no mere matter

* MARTINEAU.