winding through narrow lanes, under high elms, and between hedges garlanded with woodbine and rose-trees, whilst the air was scented with the delicious fragrance of blossomed beans, I enjoyed it all, but I believe my principal pleasure was derived from my companion herself.

And crossing the stile we were immediately in what had been a drive round a spacious park, and still retained something of the character, though the park itself had long been broken into arable fields,—and in full view of the Great House, a beautiful structure of James the First's time, whose glassless windows and dilapidated doors, form a melancholy contrast with the strength and entireness of the rich and massive front.

Emily L. is a person whom it is a privilege We must dismount here, and leave Richard to know. She is quite like a creation of the to take care of our equipage under the shade older poets, and might pass for one of Shak- of these trees, whilst we walk up to the house: speare's or Fletcher's women just stepped-See, there it is! We must cross this stile; into life; quite as tender, as playful, as gentle, there is no other way now." and as kind. She is clever too, and has all the knowledge and accomplishments that a carefully-conducted education, acting on a mind of singular clearness and ductility, matured and improved by the very best company, can bestow. But one never thinks of her acquirements. It is the charming artless character, the bewitching sweetness of manner, the real and universal sympathy, the quick taste and the ardent feeling, that one loves in Emily. She is Irish by birth, and has in perfection the melting voice and soft caressing accent by which her fair countrywomen are distinguished. Moreover she is pretty-I think her beautiful, and so do all who have heard as well as seen her, but pretty, very pretty, all the world must confess; and, perhaps, that is a distinction more enviable, because less envied, than the "palmy state" of beauty. Her prettiness is of the prettiest kind-that of which the chief character is youthfulness. A short but pleasing figure, all grace and symmetry, a fair blooming face, beaming with intelligence and good-humour; the prettiest little feet, and the whitest hands in the world;-such is Emily L.

She resides with her maternal grandmother, a venerable old lady, slightly shaken with the palsy; and when together, (and they are so fondly attached to each other that they are seldom parted) it is one of the loveliest combinations of youth and age ever witnessed. There is no seeing them without feeling an increase of respect and affection for both grandmother and granddaughter-always one of the tenderest and most beautiful of natural connections-as Richardson knew when he made such exquisite use of it in his matchless book. I fancy that grandmamma Shirley must have been just such another venerable lady as Mrs. S.,and our sweet Emily-Oh, no! Harriet Byron is not half good enough for her!There is nothing like her in the whole seven volumes!

But here we are at the bridge! Here we must alight! "This is the Loddon, Emily. Is it not a beautiful river? rising level with its banks, so clear, and smooth, and peaceful, giving back the verdant landscape and the bright blue sky, and bearing on its pellucid stream the snowy water-lily, the purest of flowers, which sits enthroned on its own cool leaves looking chastity itself, like the lady in

The story of that ruin-for such it is-is' always to me singularly affecting :-It is that of the decay of an ancient and distinguished family, gradually reduced from the highest wealth and station to actual poverty. The house and park, and a small estate around it, were entailed on a distant cousin, and could not be alienated; and the late owner, the last of his name and lineage, after struggling with debt and difficulty, farming his own lands, and clinging to his magnificent home with a love of place almost as tenacious as that of the younger Foscari, was at last forced to abandon it, retired to a paltry lodging in a paltry town, and died there, about twenty years ago, broken-hearted.

His successor, bound by no ties of association to the spot, and rightly judging the residence to be much too large for the diminished estate, immediately sold the superb fixtures, and would have entirely taken down the house, if, on making the attempt, the masonry had not been found so solid that the materials were not worth the labour. A great part, however, of one side is laid open, and the splendid chambers with their carving and gilding, are exposed to the wind and rain-sad memorials of past grandeur. The grounds have been left in a merciful neglect; the park, indeed, is broken up, the lawn mown twice a year like a common hay-field, the grotto mouldering into ruin, and the fish-ponds choked with rushes and aquatic plants; but the shrubs and flowering trees are undestroyed, and have grown into a magnificence of size and wildness of beauty, such as we may imagine them to attain in their native forests. Nothing can exceed their luxuriance, especially in the spring, when the lilac and laburnum and double cherry put forth their gorgeous blossoms.— 1 There is a sweet sadness in the sight of such floweriness amidst such desolation; it seems the triumph of nature over the destructive

Of the sun, too ardent else,-what time we lay
By the smooth Loddon, opposite the high
Steep bank, which as a coronet gloriously
Wore its rich crest of firs and lime-trees, gay
With their pale tassels; while from out a bower
Of ivy (where those column'd poplars rear
Their heads) the ruin'd boat-house, like a tower,
Flung its deep shadow on the waters clear.

My Emily! forget not that calm hour,
Nor that fair scene, by thee made doubly dear!

EARLY RECOLLECTIONS.

MY GODFATHER.

a brilliant and unfading hilarity, which were to him, like the quick blood of youth. Time had been rather his friend than his foe; had stolen nothing as far as I could discover; and had given such a license to his jokes and his humour, that he was when I knew him as privileged a person as a court jester in the days of yore. Perhaps he was always so: for, independently of fortune and station, high animal spirits, invincible good-humour, and a certain bustling officiousness, are pretty sure to make their way in the world, especially when they seek only for petty distinctions. He was always the first personage of his small circle; president of half the clubs in the neighbourhood; steward to the races; chairman of the bench; father of the corporation; and would undoubtedly have been member for the town, if that ancient borough had not had the ill luck to be disfranchised in some stormy period of our national history.

It is now nearly twenty years ago, that I, a young girl just freed from the trammels of schooldom, went into a remote and distant county, on a visit to my godfather, to make acquaintance with a large colony of my relations, and behold new scenes and new faces; But that was no great loss to my dear goda pleasure, certainly; but a formidable and father. Even the bench and the vestry, alawful pleasure, to a shy and home-loving girl. though he presided at them with sufficient repNothing could have reconciled me to the pros-utation, were too grave matters to suit his taste. pect of encountering so many strange cousins, He would have made a bad police magistrate; for they were all strangers, but my strong de- his sympathies ran directly the contrary way. sire to see my dear and venerable god-papa, Accordingly he used to be accused of certain for whom, although we had never met since merciful abuses of his office of justice of the the christening, I entertained the most lively peace: such as winking at vagrants and vaaffection, an affection nourished on his part gabonds, encouraging the Merry Andrew, and by kindnesses of every sort, from the huge the droll fellow Punch, and feeing the constawax-doll, and the letter in print-hand, proper ble, not to take up a certain drunken fiddler, to the damsel of six years old, down to the who had haunted the town, man and boy, these pretty verses and elegant necklace, his birth- forty years. day greeting to the young lady of sixteen. He was no stranger, that dear god-papa! I was quite sure I should know him at first sight, quite sure that I should love him better than ever; both which predictions were verified to the letter. It would have been strange indeed if they had not.

Mr. Evelyn, for so I shall call him, was a gentleman of an ancient family and considerable fortune, residing in a small town in the north of England; where he had occupied for the last fifty years, the best house, and the highest station, the object of universal respect and affection, from high and low. He was that beautiful thing, a healthy and happy old man. Shakspeare, the master painter, has partly described him for me, in the words of old Adam,

"Therefore my age is as a lusty winter, Frosty, but kindly.”

Never was wintry day, with the sun smiling upon the icicles, so bright or so keen. At eighty-four, he had an unbent, vigorous person, a fresh colour, long, curling, milk-white hair, and regular features, lighted up by eyes as brilliant and as piercing as those of a hawk; his foot was as light, his voice as clear, and his speech as joyous as at twenty. He had a life of mind, an alertness of spirit,

Races and balls were more his element. There he would walk about with his hands behind him, and a pleasant word for every one; his keen eye sparkling with gaiety, and his chuckling laugh heard above all, the unwearied patron and promoter of festivity in all its branches; rather than the dance should languish, he would stand up himself. This indulgence to the young, or rather this sympathy with enjoyment wherever he found it, was not confined to the rich; he liked a fair or a revel quite as well as an assembly, perhaps better, because the merriment there was noisier, heartier, more completely free from restraint. How he would chuck the rosy country lasses under the chin, and question them about their sweethearts! And how the little coquettes would smile, and blush, and curtsy, and cry "fie," and enjoy it! That was certainly an octogenarian privilege, and one worth a score or two of years, in his estimation.

But these diversions, thoroughly as he entered into their spirit, were by no means necessary to his individual amusement. His cheerfulness needed no external stimuli. The day was too short-life itself, although so prolonged, was too brief for his busy idleness. He had nothing to do, followed no calling, belonged to no profession, had no estate to improve, no children to establish, and yet from morning to

night he was employed about some vagary or most. Indeed they had an additional charm other, with as much ardour as if the fate of in his eyes, by being mostly the trophies of the nation depended on his speed. Fishing his own exploits from childhood downwards. and fiddling, shooting and coursing, turning Bird-nesting, always his favourite sport, had and varnishing, making bird-cages and picture been, since he had dabbled in natural history, frames, and cabbage-nets, and flies for angling, invested with the dignity of a pursuit. He constructing charades, and tagging verses, loved it as well as any child in the parish; were only a few of his occupations. Then he had as keen an eye to his game, and as much dallied with science and flirted with art; was intrepidity in its acquisition; climbed trees, in a small way a connoisseur, had a tolerable delved into hedge-rows, and no more minded collection of prints, and a very bad one of a rent garment, or a tumble into a ditch, than paintings, and was moreover a sort of virtuoso. an urchin of eight years old. The butterflies I had not been two days in the house before too, were, for the most part, of his own catchmy good godfather introduced me to his ing. I have myself seen a chase after a moth, museum, a long room or rather gallery, where that might serve as a companion to that grand as he boasted, and I well believe, neither mop, Peter-Pindaric, "Sir Joseph Banks and the nor broom, nor housemaid had ever entered. emperor of Morocco;" but my godfather had the better of the sport-he knocked down his insect.

This museum was certainly the dirtiest den into which I ever set foot; dark, to a pitch, which took away for a while all power of distinguishing objects, and so dusty as to annihilate colour, and confuse form. I have a slight notion that this indistinctness was, in the present instance, rather favourable than otherwise to the collection, which I cannot help suspecting, was a thought less valuable than its owner opined. It consisted, I believe (for one cannot be very sure,) of sundry birds in glass cases exceedingly ragged and dingy; of sundry stuffed beasts, among which the moth had made great havoc; of sundry reptiles, and other curiosities, preserved, pickled -(what is the proper word?)-in glass bottles; of a great heap of ores, and shells, and spars, covered with cobwebs; of some copper coins, all rust; of half a mummy; and a bit of cloth made of asbestos. The only time I ever got into a scrape with my good-humoured host was on the score of this last-mentioned treasure. Being assured by him that it was the veritable, undoubted asbestos, which not only resists the action of fire, but is actually cleansed by that element, I proposed, seeing how very much it needed purification, that it should undergo a fiery ablution forthwith; but that ordeal was rejected as too dangerous; and I myself certainly considered for five minutes as dangerous too-something of an incendiary, a female Guy Vaux-I was lucky enough to do away the impression by admiring, very honestly, some newly-caught butterflies, pretty insects, and not yet spoiled,-which occupied one side of a long table. They were backed to my great consternation by a row of skulls, which, Mr. Evelyn having lately met with Dr. Gall's book, and being much smitten with Cranio-I beg its new name's pardonPhrenology-had purchased at five shillings a head of the sexton, and now descanted on in a vein as unlike Hamlet's as possible.

The museum was hung round with festoons of bird's eggs, strung necklace-fashion, as boys are wont to thread them, being the part of its contents, which, next perhaps to his new playthings the skulls, its owner valued

To return to our museum. The last article that I remember, was a prodigious bundle of autographs, particularly unselect; where Thomas Smith, date unknown, figured by the side of Oliver Cromwell; and John Brown, equally incognito, had the honour of being tied up with Queen Elizabeth. I would not be very certain either that there might not be an occasional forgery among the greater names; not on the part of the possessor, he would as soon have thought of forging a bank bill, but on that of the several venders, or donors, which last class generally came, autograph in hand, to beg a favour. Never was any human being so complete a subject for imposition-so entirely devoid of guile himself, so utterly unsuspicious of its existence in others. He lived as if there were not a lie in the world;-blessed result of a frank and ardent temperament, and of a memory so happily constituted that it retained no more trace of past evil, than of last year's clouds.

His living collection was quite as large, and almost as out of the way, as his dead one. He was an eminent bird-fancier, and had all sorts of "smale foules," as old Chaucer calls them, in every variety of combination, and in different stages of education; for your professed bird-fancier, like your professed florist, is seldom content to let nature alone. Starlings, jays, and magpies, learning to talk; bulfinches and goldfinches learning tunes from a barrel organ; linnets brought up under a wood-lark, unlearning their own notes and studying his; nightingales, some of the earliest known in those parts, learning to live north of Trent; all sorts of canaries, and mule birds, and nests full of young things not yet distinguishable from each other, made up the miscellaneous contents of his aviary. He had also some white mice, a tame squirrel, and a very sagacious hedge-dog; and he had had a tortoise, which by an extraordinary exertion of ingenuity, he had contrived to kill, -a feat, which a road wagon going over the poor animal would have failed to perform.

This was the manner.

people know, is for about six months in the year torpid, and generally retires under ground to enjoy his half year's nap: he had been missing some days, when the old gardener dug him up out of a cabbage-bed, and brought him in for dead. My godfather, forgetting his protegé's habits, and just fresh from reading some book on the efficacy of the warm bath, (he was a great man for specifics,) soused the unlucky land-crab into hot water, and killed him outright. All that could be done to repair the mischief was tried, and he was finally replaced in his old burrow, the cabbage-bed, but even burying him failed to bring him to life again. This misadventure rather damped Mr. Evelyn's zest for outlandish favourites. After all, his real and abiding pets were children-children of all ages, from six months old to twelve years. He had much of the child in his own composition; his sweet and simple nature, his restlessness and merriment, harmonized with theirs most completely. He loved a game at romps too, as well as they did, and would join in all their sports from battledore and shuttlecock, to puss in the corner. He had no child of his own-(have I not said that he was married?)-no child whom he had an absolute right to spoil; but he made all the children of the place serve his turn, and right happy were they to be spoiled by Mr. Evelyn.

The tortoise, as most matrimony. She was nearly twenty years younger in actual age, but seemed twenty, years older from the mere absence of his vivacity. In all essential points they agreed perfectly; were equally charitable, generous, hospitable, and just; but of their minor differences there was no end. She was grave, and slow, and formal-upright, thin, and pale; dressed with a sort of sober splendour; wore a great quantity of old-fashioned jewellery; went airing every day; and got up, breakfasted, dined, supped, and went to bed at exactly the same minute, the whole year round,—clock-work was never more regular. Then she was addicted to a fussing and fidgety neatness, such as is held proper to old maids and Dutch women, and kept the house afloat with perpetual scourings. Moreover she had a hatred of motion and idleness, and pursued as a duty some long tiresome useless piece of handy-work. Knitting a carpet, for instance, or netting a veil, or constructing that hideous piece of female joinery, a patch-work counterpane. The room in which I slept bore notable testimony to her industry; the whole fringe of the bed and window-curtains being composed of her knotting, and the hearth-rug of her work, as well as a chair, miscalled easy, stuffed into a hardness bumping against you in every direction, and covered with huge flowers, in small tent stitch, flowers that would have done honour to the gardens of Brobdignag. Besides this she was a genealogist, and used to bewilder herself and her hearers in a labyrinth of pedigree, which even at this distance of time, it gives me a head-ache to think of; nay, she was so unmerciful as to expect that I should understand and recollect all the intricacies of my own descent, and how I came to be of kin to the innumerable cousins to whom she introduced me, I could as soon have learnt) that despair of my childhood, the multiplication table.

They all flocked around him, guided by that remarkable instinct, by which the veriest baby can detect a person who really loves it; ran after him when he rode on horseback, thrust their little hands into his when he walked, and hung round the stone porch in which he had the habit of sitting on a summer afternoon, reading the newspaper in the sun, and chatting to the passers by, (for he knew every soul in the place, gentle or simple) holding a long dialogue with one, sending a jest after another, and a kind nod to the third. Thither his clients, the children, would resort every evening, as much, I verily believe, for the love of their patron as for the gingerbread, apples, and halfpence, the tops, marbles, and balls, which used to issue from those capacious magazines, his pockets.

-

The house, to which this porch belonged, was well suited to the tastes and station of its owner;-stately, old-fashioned, and spacious; situate in the principal street, and commanding the market-place, a mansion in

a town.

Behind was a formal garden in the Dutch style,-terraces, and beds of flowers, and tall yew hedges, and holly and box cut into various puzzling shapes, dragons, peacocks, lions, and swans. Within doors all was equally precise and out of date, being (except the museum) under the special and exclusive dominion of the lady of the house. Mrs. Evelyn formed just the contrast with her husband which is said to tell best in

All this might seem to compose no very desirable companion for an idle girl of sixteen; but I had not been a week in the house before I loved her very nearly as well as my dear godfather, although in a different way. Her thorough goodness made itself felt, and she was so perfectly a gentlewoman, so constantly considerate and kind, so liberal and charitable, in deed and word, that nobody could help loving Mrs. Evelyn. Besides, we had one taste in common, a fondness for her peculiar territory, the orchard, a large grassy spot covered with fine old fruit trees, divided from the flower garden on the north by a magnificent yew hedge, bounded on one side by a filbert walk, on the other by the high ivied stone wall of the potagerie, and sloping down | on the south to a broad sparkling rivulet. which went dancing along like a thing of life, (as your northern rivulet is apt to do) forming a thousand tiny bays and promonto