we" affected the sun," because it did not affect us, save as we wished it -affectionately, as if it loved us as we love it.

On we went; and I must say that, for a one-legged walker, my trusty stick kept wonderfully well up with me, and even sometimes stepped a foot before me; but I encouraged it, and patted it approvingly on the head; and even your "stick" has something like an organ of "love-ofapprobation " in its head, and will do wonders if you encourage it. Why, there's that stick of an author, Mr. Barnaby Backgarret-some one read a sonnet of his right through, and so little did the generous reader think there was somewhat too much" of it, that he advised him to make more of it, by adding two feet to the last line, by way of Alexandrine, which is really an addition to your small sonnet, and brings it to a close with an à-plomb-like pause that is very effective. Mr. B. B., so encouraged, has gone on, and is half way through another sonnet by this time: so he "advises me per last." I wish him well through it, for I have no envy on that side of the way, knowing what "a labour of love " it is, and how much in vain-like getting a son, to be gibbeted when you had hopes of him, and flattered yourself he would be" such an honour to his family."

On we went like one-solus in the sun-having the way all our own way-nobody disputing it with us-not even the omnibuses, that dispute every inch of the way with you "on the stones," while the drivers and conductors dispute with one another. A cow, under a shadowing tree, whisking her tail about by way of warning to the flies, was the only living thing we saw till we were fairly, and freshly, and softly treading over the green sward of Clapham Common-an uncommon common, considering its neighbourhood to our great city, for it was green, and had some beautiful old trees on it-ponds, willow-shaded, duck-weeded, ducknavigated-three old washerwomen, hanging

"Their petticoats out to dry,

To keep one another com-pa-ny,”—

two or three donkeys, a school-full of children just poured out, the hour being twelve, four grooms playing at quoits under the shadow of some elms, with two large white feathers stuck in the ground for mag, a flock of fine fat geese, a sow just out of the mud, and shining all over with satisfaction that she was in such a pickle as not to be fit for the parlour and polite society (I never saw a dirty beast happier-not even D-—, drunk and rolling in the gutter)—and a few sundries, labourers sleeping away their want of beer, &c. &c.

On we went, and winding our way among the furze, now out of bloom, we were alone in a little hollow; and here we sat down to rest our walking-stick awhile, and think of nothing. The Clapham "world was quite shut out." All was stillness, save when a donkey brayed, but as we thought he did not-he might though-address himself to us, we took no notice of him, and let him bray, till he had expressed all he had to say upon that subject, whatever it was. I could not help thinking what a world of idle discussion might be spared the world if the world would only treat the other members of the Bray family just as I treated the Clapham Common orator-hear him out, and let the next donkey, five miles off, reply to him. What wide intervals in discussion we should have! Like Mr. Wordsworth,

"I am not one that much or oft delight"

in "public speaking." "Wisdom sometimes crieth in the streets, and no one regardeth her :" if she would laugh, I would listen, and join in. I let " my learned friend run down, and all again was most delicious

silence-silence made more sweet by the dissonance I had just heard. Now I could hear the leaves prattle, in their pretty, lisping way, with the zephyrs, as poets call those whiffling young winds which wander about commons and fields all day long, and take playful liberties with the flowers, romping with them and kissing them, and rumpling their nicely-plaited frills, till they are hardly fit to be seen. Now, too, I could hear the bee murmur-not unthankfully-no, he expressed how happy he was by that sweet, drowsy, low singing of his. I thought, as he brushed by, that he reproached me for sitting idling there. Why was I not up, and

"Gathering honey all the day,

From ev'ry opening flower?"

I made the best excuse I could, and that was not a bad one—I never knew an idle man who was not good at such apologies—and he seemed mollified, and left me "to blush unseen a delicacy which did honour to the sweet-dispositioned little fellow, who could have stung me with a reproach, if he had been so minded; but he had come out on a different mission than to teach idle dogs a lesson on industry, and went about his own business, leaving me to go about mine at my own time-in my own way. I was not altogether idle, for, with my stick, I traced a name dear to me on the level smooth sand before me, and scratched it out again, and wrote it better the next time. At least, I was improving my "hand." And my mind? and heart, and its affections? Why not? In these solitary moments we remember friends, and hug them to our heart; and forgive enemies, and do not thrust them from it. Those moments are not idly spent in which we can do that-for the last is sometimes hard to do. Now I could hear, too, the always pleasant singing of the birds. One of those songsters I had often heard in my walks, but never could make out the singer's name; it was not in the bills. This day he perched before me upon the topmost branch of a furze-bush, and struck up the old tune which had so often delighted me. I looked at him, and knew him, by the description of his vestments, to be that eminent minor canon, Mr. Richard Whitethroat, an old and much-respected member of Nature's cathedral choir. That was something to learn: I was not idle. Having passed half an hour more in observations of the little plants at my feet, and speculated on the origin, and uses and abuses of sand, (among which its being served up in a dish of spinach is one,) and having watched one of those beautiful brilliant green-mailed beetles running hither and thither, I knew not on what errand,-my legs having been indulged with a long rest after the pull up-hill-my dry stick refreshed by a little playful paddling in a plashy pond on one side of me, I was about to rise, when company dropped in, and I therefore received themwith dignity-seated. A small knoll, neatly covered with brown moss, was my throne of state-the high furze nodding over my head was my canopy-and a little patch of green grass, forming a sort of small glade between the bushes on either side, was my carpet, over which the various presentations passed, and had the honour of an audience,

and now and then a condescending compliment from my most sacred Majesty. The first presentation was a handsome white horse of Arabian blood-a brilliant fellow, shining so glaringly in the sun, that my weak eyes ached at beholding his silvery uniform. As he passed along he paused and looked at me respectfully, and not wishing to offend a gentleman evidently with a stick, he gave a good-humoured whinny and walked on. I don't know whether animals are fond of me-I am of them, from the highest to the lowest; or whether it was whispered by one to the other that there was an interesting biped in the bushes, who was supposed to be a friend to them, in his quiet way, I know not: I was either very popular in those parts, or there is a great existing spirit of curiosity in animals for in half a minute more a cow, who was passing by, paused, and contemplated me for some moments, chewing her agreeable sweet cud the while I chewed mine of "sweet and bitter fancies," as they occurred. She was a comely creature, of the Alderney breed-quite a " Young Ladies' Drawing-Book" cow-delicately clean all over, even to the brush which concluded her tail-perhaps a little vain of her person in general, and, I thought, as proud of her horns as a lucky husband who has got three thousand pounds damages from some noble somebody for taking his wife off his handsalways an implied compliment to the husband's taste in the first selection. This cow dandizette was not alone, it turned out; for at her heels came staggering Bob"-(as your young veal is hight while "in the flesh ") ―her calf—a well-behaved bull-calf enough, an honour to his mother, and as gentle as any lamb. For an animal with his reputation for simplicity, he behaved himself sensibly; and when I offered to scratch his poll, which all animals like, he let me scratch it; and when I pulled some grass, and held it to his nose, he smelt to it, acknowledged that it was good and green, but did not eat of it, being confined to a milk-diet for the present. Mamma looked on, as mammas look on when you pet their pets-pleased, very much so, and giving you credit for the pleasure you take in their young progeny. These having passed away, a "silly sheep" dropped in en passant, and sillily stared at me, but I was not offended. As I looked on the "full meekness of its face," I could not help thinking what a shame and disgrace it was that such an inoffensive creature should be doomed to an earlier death than Nature meant for it, solely because such a hog as Huggins happens to be carnivorous, and must have his mutton, and is, as he boasts himself," a good grubber "-i. e., can clear his plate of two pounds of meat at a sitting; and then pretend to be thankful to Heaven that he is fed! So he is, while the shoulder is hot. Let his wife serve it up cold the next day, and he will affect a muttered sort of thankfulness when he sits down to it. But let her serve it up on the third day, and he has no sooner murmured" For what we are about to receive . . . . . make us truly thankful!" than he lifts the cover, and, his gratitude vanishing o' the instant, growls out, "What, this infernal cold mutton again?"

This last innocent dropper-in did not stay long with me, for that going-all-day-long dinner-bell, the bell-wether's "tintinnabulary chime" summoned him away. A pair of sparrows-Common sparrows-not those sooty fellows that get a disreputable miscellaneous living about town, but cleanly suburban sparrows, in pepper-andsalt suits of feathers-next looked in, and picked up something be

tween my feet, confidently. These gone, a hen, with seven white and two dusky chickens, came next, and poked about among the bushes behind and on each side of me. It was interesting to observe her " instructing the young idea how to" pick up this and that, and hear her continual cluck, cluck," when they straggled up to where I sat brooding; and when they came about her again, to see her direct their attention to such things as she would have them more regardful of than minding me. I could not feel offended. Another bee—“no connexion" with the bee I have previously mentioned-a traveller for a different firm in the same line-looked in "as he was passing," and, finding there was "nothing in his way," pushed on. After him followed a wasp, in a more amiable temper than usual, and humming an old air not badly; but I was glad when he took himself off, for he is not to be relied upon, the rascal's "monkey," or temper, is so soon put up, and gives you a stab and is gone before you can cry "What's that for?" A butterfly, very handsomely

66

drest

All in his best,

To wing abroad with Sally,"

or Psyche, or Sukey, whoever " his flame " might be-came fluttering in, and finding that "the chaste, the fair, the inexpressive she" was not there, fluttered out again to find her. I could have told him where she probably was, for I had seen her pass two minutes before. But as he did not ask

"Oh, where is she gone?"

I could not reply

nor he affectionately add

"Down the Long Acre:"

"Oh, if that is the case, Sir, I'll soon overtake her."

My next visitor was that very handsome reptile the land-newt-a sort of long frog, with a tail. A few more beetles gratified me by letting me look at their burnished armour of green and gold, and went glittering away. And last, and not least, another cow, in a brown coat and waistcoat, and white pantaloons, paid me a how-d'ye-do" visit, and gave my solitary Muse two mews, which I thought liberal on her part. Altogether, it was the best and most interesting levee of the season. And all this agreeable life and pleasing vicissitude of visiting friends and familiars is to be enjoyed in one hour on a common only four miles from London, open to any one, as it should be, and long may it be-and no felonious hand commit that worst of thefts-" steal a common from a goose!" I am candid enough to say that I feel deeply interested in that prayer for if the depredators were successful in the one, they might take it into their wicked heads to reverse the crime, and-" steal a goose from a common." Who then would be safe?-But away with unpleasant anticipations!

"Be not over-exquisite

To cast the fashion of uncertain evils....

What need a man forestall his date of grief?"

One humiliating thought, however, will intrude. This. How Cockneyish it was of me to be delighted with this scene, which I was, unfeignedly! Can any London-born poet, or what not," hope to be saved from an Edinburgh-born critic, if he can so easily find it in his foolish

heart to be entertained so cheaply and so town-handily? But he, poor mistaken fellow, is not so much to blame as that preverse, well-meaning, kind old creature, Nature. It is she that is guilty of these Cockneyisms: it may seem unfilial on my part to lay such an accusation against her, but it is too true. If she will plant her trees in pots-I beg her pardon -plots of ground within a stone's throw of the four-mile stone, and watch over them, and make them, or let them, thrive, and flourish, and look as stately and handsome as if they were growing in the heart of the country, "far removed from noise and smoke;"-and if she will drop her violets and other wild flowers about so accessible a common-" by Cockneys only trod ;"-and if she will send her cuckoo" cuckooing in all corners of Clapham; and her lark spinning up to the sky, having instructed him previously in plain-chant, and taught him the songs which she has " set herself" for the occasion," and if she will take

pleasure in seeing and hearing her

66

. Ætherial songster, soaring merrily,"

His wings keep time to his rich music's flow,
Rolling along the sky celestially,

And echoing o'er the hill's wood-waving brow,

Along the flood, that back reflects the sky,

And him, that warbling speck, deep-mirror'd from on high*;"

and if she will trail" her green robe's hem " so close to town that awkward Cockneys tread on it, whose fault are all these faults but hers? These common spots are not so common as they seem. The "beneficial Sun" smiles as he shines upon them--I have seen him-and it did not strike me that he smiled as if he derided them, but rather as if he loved them, and saw some natural beauty there not unworthy of his approbation. I have observed, too, that he spends some hours every day among these scenes; and if he does, why should not I?-and when he retires in the evening to "Thetis' lap," that he blesses them with a parting smile. The Seasons visit there, each one in order due, and take some pains and more pleasure in showing how they admire them. The clouds drop their "fatness" upon them, and freshen their ever-fertile verdure. The stars look down upon them, and light up their nightdews till they shine like droppings of those stars. The Moon glides over them, and is not ashamed to be seen turning her sweetly-serious smile towards them, and gilds their little hollows of water with her silvery rays, and stops to look into them as Beauty looks into her mirror, admiring her own lovely face. He who laid down these humble scenes, and first adorned them, He breathes over them, and their wildflowers blow at his bidding, that the air may be sweetened; and their wild fruits bloom and ripen, that his wild feathered creatures may be fed; and every rood of this poor common ground is instinct with verdant life. And lastly, and not leastly, he permits town-neighbouring Man to strike in his spade here, and his dibble there, and his ploughshare in another place, and bestows an unheard blessing upon his labours; and while "Paul planteth, and Apollos watereth," He "giveth the increase." But these things in their favour notwithstanding, I should not-so I

THOMAS MILLER'S " Ode to the Skylark."