* * * * *

THE RETURN TO ENGLAND.

When I re-visited my dear native country, after an absence of many weary years, and a long dull voyage, my heart was filled with unutterable delight and admiration.  The land seemed a perfect paradise.  It was in the spring of the year.  The blue vault of heaven—­the clear atmosphere—­the balmy vernal breeze—­the quiet and picturesque cattle, browsing on luxuriant verdure, or standing knee deep in a crystal lake—­the hills sprinkled with snow-white sheep and sometimes partially shadowed by a wandering cloud—­the meadows glowing with golden butter-cups and be-dropped with daisies—­the trim hedges of crisp and sparkling holly—­the sound of near but unseen rivulets, and the songs of foliage-hidden birds—­the white cottages almost buried amidst trees, like happy human nests—­the ivy-covered church, with its old grey spire “pointing up to heaven,” and its gilded vane gleaming in the light—­the sturdy peasants with their instruments of healthy toil—­the white-capped matrons bleaching their newly-washed garments in the sun, and throwing them like snow-patches on green slopes, or glossy garden shrubs—­the sun-browned village girls, resting idly on their round elbows at small open casements, their faces in sweet keeping with the trellised flowers:—­all formed a combination of enchantments that would mock the happiest imitative efforts of human art.  But though the bare enumeration of the details of this English picture, will, perhaps, awaken many dear recollections in the reader’s mind, I have omitted by far the most interesting feature of the whole scene—­the rosy children, loitering about the cottage gates, or tumbling gaily on the warm grass.[005][006]

Two scraps of verse of a similar tendency shall follow this prose description:—­

AN ENGLISH LANDSCAPE.

    I stood, upon an English hill,
    And saw the far meandering rill,
    A vein of liquid silver, run
    Sparkling in the summer sun;
    While adown that green hill’s side,
    And along the valley wide,
    Sheep, like small clouds touched with light,
    Or like little breakers bright,
    Sprinkled o’er a smiling sea,
    Seemed to float at liberty.

    Scattered all around were seen,
    White cots on the meadows green. 
    Open to the sky and breeze,
    Or peeping through the sheltering trees,
    On a light gate, loosely hung,
    Laughing children gaily swung;
    Oft their glad shouts, shrill and clear,
    Came upon the startled ear. 
    Blended with the tremulous bleat,
    Of truant lambs, or voices sweet,
    Of birds, that take us by surprise,
    And mock the quickly-searching eyes.