care. We will now trace the endeared scene of many a youthful revel: there, beyond the plantation, annually did the bonfire signalize the completion of rural toils of the pommes-de-terre; in the further meadows you will not easily forget how often your busy hands trailed the long rake; " or amid the kind oppression rolled !" and anon arose the mirthful sound of the various sports of your brothers, where the soaring kite mocked the eye, or the cricket-ball rebounded. Sisters were seated under the spreading tree, to mark the success of each aspiring candidate, till the sun shed his latest ray, or tents were pitched for the accommodation of friends, dear and valued friends, whose remembrance will ever be associated with our sweetest and happiest hours of social amusement, the dance, music, or interchange of song, all were bonds of union. Not forgetting birth-day presents of books, mutually presented. The HERMIT, by Parnell, is always an acceptable present for a birth-day gift; believing it to be the wisest thing in the world, to be an Optimist, in his sense of the word.

Occasionally mixing in the gay circles of town life, and then returning to the calmer rural scene, with renewed taste for all its genuine delights, is a prominent trait in the English character; and, possibly, to this habit, England may be materially indebted for its distinguishing trait of being a thinking nation, which is alike the guardian of her morality, and of

her independence. Nor is it an unpleasing tribute to our English habits, that travellers of this country are noted for possessing a decided relish for the calm, the solitary charms of rural life. With them, all the sweet associations of early years are usually to be referred to this scene, arising from our domestic custom of mothers devoting themselves to the early education of children.

Time, the test of all things, can alone confirm the reward of maternal care and instruction: and, if time had prepared the welcome assurance that a mother's voice was heard, and even amidst the tumult of war and dangers, that it accompanied the young hero, may not the British matron be permitted to value a testimony so precious as the following, addressed to her from a son ?

LINES WRITTEN ON MY VOYAGE FROM FRANCE AFTER
THE CAMPAIGN, 1815.

When a wearisome day and its duties were clos'd,
And, stretch'd on my pallet of straw, I repos'd,
White cliffs of my country! how often have you,
In visions of fancy, appear'd to my view?

In those dreams of enchantment, how oft have I stray'd
To those happy fields, where my infancy play'd.
The flow'rs which were wont on my path-way to grow,
By remembrance reviv'd, seem'd to freshen and blow;
And roses, from which every thorn was remov'd,
By th' affection and care of the parents I lov❜d,
Appear'd o'er my pillow their fragrance to shed,
Andshadow once more, with their blossoms, my head.

And a voice seems to speak thro the dash of the fram England welcomes her Soldiers with pride to their Home 1815.

Then again to my bosom with fervour I prest,

Those friends who my life with their kindness have blest;
Who have watch'd o'er my infancy, guarded my youth,

And taught me to venerate Virtue and Truth;
To revere the All-wise and Omnipotent Power,
Who shields us thro' danger's tempestuous hour;
To rely on his mercy, to bend to his will,
And, e'en in calamity, honour him still.

But, ah! 'twas all fancy; a false, faithless dream,
Which vanish'd at once, with the first morning-beam;
And left me to mourn o'er sweet visions like this,
So fraught with the fairy-illusions of bliss;
To appear and depart, like the meteors of light,
Which shew but more clearly the gloom of the night.
But now 'tis no vision-my heart it beats high.
And the tear starts uncall'd, to the far-straining eye :
For I view, o'er the mist of the billowy sea,
The shores of my country advancing to me.
The breeze is propitious, and each rolling wave
High swelling, the prow of our vessel to lave.
With what transport we hear, as she rolls on her way,
The wild and shrill note of the silvery spray:

And a voice seems to speak, thro' the dash of the foam,
England welcomes her soldiers, with pride, to their home.

T. J.

The hour now summons us to other duties of the day; we collect the younger stragglers, who have gone in search of specimens for the Herbal; and see, they approach with every wild-flower,(12) " which sips the dew." In order to invite your close inspection of nature, I have selected one more stately from the garden, as an object for examination in the Mi

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