The Statesman.
London, England, 1820-10-25 00:00:00

aad t, ism morrow.
6t ball adoelb the &Id,

we shall have passed away
silence and tratmoillity
left to say, that we once
or en a lazy supha, or in an ann chair, or in the pages
of a novel, float the mind arquires its deep tone of
meditation, hut on the sninmit of a bare rock, when
the northland is whistling astounds—by the sea-shore
when the billows are dashing at your feet;—in the
dark recesses of forests, when the roar of mountain.
torrents is heard whooping down the cataracts, and
breaking oa the stillness of all things z—then it is
that the moil reaches its noblest state of elevation ; and
feels that there is a speaking voice, a consenting and
harononioofi morality in nature, whether she discourses
in the grave maturity of I.utionon, or laughs in the ea-
uherant infancy of spring, that speaks the knowledge
of eternity to the heart, and fits it for the highest ea.
!obilities of creation.
There k a pleasure In the pathless woods—
There is a rapture on the lonely shore—
There Is coda, where nose intrudes.
Ry the deep sea--end music in its roar-
-1 lose not man the less—but nature, inure
From these our inters iews—in which I steal
From all I may he, or have been before,
To mingle wiih the universe; and feel
Mat I cannot cypress, yet cannot all comes!.
Rut while we linger with fondness on the remem-
brance of slimmer, and turn with a paiufnl sensation
of melancholy to the elderly gentleman in the drab
coat, who hastens gravely towards ns in the livery and
insignia of ants ;;;;; , let us say a " word or so before
we go" ea the domestic comforts he holds sent to ns.—
Pleasure is no longer to be met with in the fields, and
the throat of the hobbling brook has lately caught an
Increase of cold, and 'tis grown hoarse with the rapist
occusuidation of mountain torrents. The nightingale
has fled far away to the bills of the west, wad who
shall recompense us for her loft ? we miss her leap
drawn and quivering note as we wander up the shady
brow of the hull, or roam by the gentle declivities of
the valley ;—ws miss her kind welcome as we enter the
low roof of our cottage, end pause in vain for her ten-
der and melancholy complaint. She has gone--the
sweetest friend almost we have ever known, awl the
time of her return is uncertain. Bet if sheerer visit
us again with the balmy gales and sweet sunshine of
enonneer, she will find her old haunts still numulested;
the tree whereon she sung is holy ; awl her
favourite grove has not yet resounded to the sa.
crilegious ate of the woodman. Now, while the
sun retires early to make mate& for the long
watchful day; of sommee—the shutters of the
pardons are closed—the slumbering fire is renewed
with tenecieets perseverance, and the tales of legendary
superstition drawled out over a laxatives sophaa by
the dusky obscurity of twilight. A family of happy
farm, each anticipating an evening's entertainment
are basking in the genial influence of a wields
winter-fire. The wind howls along the ocean, the
chilly sleet dashes against the casement, and the co-a-
borts of an antounnal fire-side, are felt with renewed
satisfaction. A pegs of Byron, lloasseau, or Scott, is
read, and the different comments of the party referred
to in behalf of their favourite passage.. Pope Jean,
conosserre, forfeits, epitaph-writing, verse-capping,
and hther *inter reeohig- agnasertorn". are then en's'-
, sienceil, and the night is concluded by the eonderful

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