unlocked streams which rushed in torrents from the mountain-heights. The beautiful river, which ran near Sedley's grounds, leaped and bounded along, whilst its banks were overflowed by the rising waters; and the green pleasure-boats and tiny skiffs, danced lightly on its buoyant, sunny bosom, as they lay moored in shaded nooks or miniature harbours.

The fields, groves, villages, mountains and green vallies, all seemed to rejoice in the genial change,, and the birds sang as merrily as though it were a summer day.

The cheerful aspect of nature extended its influence into Sedley's breast, and as he approached the neat country town adjoining his estate, he felt a warm glow of affection for his native place.

The word home was sweet even to Sedley, yet his was but a cheerless one!

Oh! the inestimable, the precious blessing of a happy home! When we are compelled to quit it, even for a short time, with what lingering regret do we go! And when away from it, how

does our heart yearn towards it, and the memory of it come ever and anon as a cloud to sadden our gayest pleasures.

And when at night, we pray for the dear, absent ones, with what trembling solicitude do we name them! We would fain fly back to them on the instant. They may regret our absence, and sorely miss our society, and life is so short; illness may have suddenly seized them—and we are not by to nurse them, wait on them, and soothe them by tender cares; they may be sad-and we, the light of their circle, are not there to chase the gloom from their brows, and call the smile into their dim eyes!

And when after the turmoil, excitement, or constraint of our visit, we return back to our home, how delicious is its repose to us. And oh! the welcome we receive!-the silent embrace; the tears of joy, the quivering smile; which strives to speak what the tongue refuses to utter; the fond searching into our eyes, to ascertain if we have brought back the careless joyfulness we took with us; the eager ques

tionings, the fixed attention, the careful arrangements for our comfortable reception; all these belong to a happy home.

Deep and mysterious must be the love which can induce us cheerfully to leave the paternal roof, and seek another.

Sedley viewed with emotion the scenes which were endeared to him by the memory of his mother. He thought of his school-days, when these familiar places appeared to him fairer than all the world besides; where all his hopes and joys had centred, and to which all his plans and wishes for the future, had reference. It had seemed to him, in those youthful days, that the sun shed a warmer light, the meadows were more verdant, and the orchards more fruitful there, than in other parts. He well remembered the ecstasy of his feelings when the holiday time arrived, and the post-chaise came to convey him home; he remembered his restless impatience to reach the town in which he was now baiting, and his bribes to induce the postboy to drive faster; he recollected the triumphant glow of

his heart as the carriage rattled through the paved streets, and the town's-people took off their hats respectfully to the young heir of the ancient house of Sedley.

There was the clear river, blue and winding, as it had been then; there were the pleasureboats he had so often aided in rowing, when his buoyant spirits nerved his arm and rendered him invulnerable to fatigue; there was the stable-yard, bustling and noisy, as it had been of yore, when he used to gallop his spirited little pony into it, and pull him up with a suddenness which nearly threw him on his haunches.

Sedley noted all these things, and felt the contrast. He was come back to his native place an altered being; and, instead of imparting beauty to every scene and object from the sunshine of his own feelings, he came to seek comfort and peace from their silent loveliness.

Sedley continued his journey, and reached home before sunset.

The next day was Sunday, and he went to

church, exciting a sensation of which he was wholly unconscious. Many were the plans already formed against his peace of mind. One very romantic young lady of thirty-five, who never wore any bonnet but one of a cottage shape, and always appeared in white muslin, and outrageously long ringlets of an evening, had made quite sure of captivating poor Sedley. She calculated on meeting him very soon at some dinner-party in the neighbourhood; and having heard that he was a man of refined taste, she had prepared a little conversation for the occasion, wherein she had intended to tell him that Byron's enchanting lines on the Venus had inspired her with an unquenchable desire to visit Italy; but that, unhappily for her, she saw no chance of being taken there by her Papa. She also intended informing him that nature must have designed her for a poetess, so thoroughly did her whole soul love the beauties of the sublime Byron and the divine Moore. She had also selected two or three Italian songs, with which she intended com