snuff up the sea breeze, till driven back by the waves. I walked to another part of the downs, where every shade of green and brown was lit up by the sunbeam; and where the distant woods and village spires pleasantly harmonized together, producing on the mind a soothing power and sweet solemnity. No wonder that poets, keenly alive to nature's charms, should, when unbaptized with holy influences, indulge in dreams of pleasant resting places. "Mine be the breezy hill that skirts the down, Where a green grassy turf is all I crave; With here and there a violet bestrown, Fast by a brook or fountain's murmuring wave, And many an evening sun shine sweetly on my grave." Oh that the heart were more captivated than it is by the bright prospects beyond the grave, which are presented to the eye of faith in the inspired volume of truth. When the shadows of evening gather round the downs, and give to them a solemn, sombre appearance, less lovely they seem to the eye than when glowing in the sunshine; but what they lose in loveliness, they gain in sublimity. And thus it is with human character. In the joyous, light-hearted hours of youth, the sunny morning of life, we see much that is lovely; but it is in the more advanced, in the tried and shadowy seasons of existence, that we contemplate the deeper and more influential qualities of the mind. In a ramble towards Tarring, I spied an old ruin in a field. It proved to be the remains of a chapel. Before this, on my way from Brighton, I had noticed the ruins of an old church, a rectory; and was told that neither a dwelling nor inhabitant is to be found in the parish; yet, in these ruined walls, Divine service is performed once a year to a few assembled hearers, that the parish may be kept up. As I stood to admire the old chapel, a hoary, meek-looking countryman came up, in his round frock, and low, broad-brimmed hat. He pointed out to me the Clapham woods, the vale of Findon, and Highdown Hill, on which stands the Miller's Tomb. My companion told me, that in his younger days he knew the miller well, "a good man, though a strange one." In his leisure hours, the miller amused himself in making machinery, two pieces of which used, in his life-time, to be fixed on the top of his house, and afforded amusement to the passer-by. The one represented a mill and a miller, so constructed that every time the shafts were moved by the wind, a sack opened, and a shovel was seen in the act of raising the flour for the purpose of filling it. The other represented a custom house officer, with an upraised sword, pursuing a smuggler; and an old woman, at the heels of the officer, violently banging him with a broom. At that period, this part of the British coast was much frequented by smugglers; and some have suggested from the above circumstance, that even the miller himself had a secret predilection for these clandestine gentry. In many respects, the miller was a singular character. He had his coffin and vault made; and when he died, his tomb had been erected twentyseven years. For the last four or five years of his life he was blind, and a young girl used to come from Tarring, a neighbouring village, every sabbath day, to read him a sermon. funeral drew thousands together from different parts of the country. His Over the shed behind the tomb, where there is a seat for visitors, and whence is a most delightful view of the ocean, from Portsmouth to Beachey Head, including the miller's house on the left, with a choice portion of Sussex in front, are placed some lines, not very poetical, calling on the stranger, while enjoying the enchanting scene before him, to think of the better scenes which are above. The erection of this tomb on this unconsecrated spot, and for twenty-seven years previous to the decease of its occupant, is a singularity hardly equalled in the annals of eccentric biography. I am now walking on the pebbled shore, listening with delight to the dash of the waves, examining the pebbles and sea-weed. Stop! here is a curious muscle, with a profusion of sea-weed growing from the shell. A little time has elapsed; the poor fish for a season held the sides of its shell most tenaciously together; but the heat of my hand has enfeebled its powers, and deprived it of existence. Yes, it is even so; I can now open the shell without the slightest resistance. It is one of those shadowy, sunshiny days, when, at one moment, every thing appears to be shrouded in gloom, and the next all is brilliancy and brightness. Just at this instant, each varied colour of the rainbow is reflected on the ocean; and, here and there, is a large patch of light green, which looks like an oasis on the desert waste of waters. The swell is rather high near the shore, and the small vessels keep at a distance, or, as the sailor says, "they give the land a wide birth." "In every object here I see Something, O Lord, that leads to thee: Firm as the rocks thy promise stands, "In every object here I see Something, my heart, that points at thee: Deep and deceitful as the ocean, And, like the tides, in constant motion." How much more calculated to raise the heart and soul to nature's God are the beauties of nature, than all the wonders that art ever produced! Amid scenes of fashion and frivolity, the mind loses its high-toned feeling, its elevated aspirations, and all its relish for sober pursuits; the eye restlessly wanders from one object to another, and the heart knows no repose. A mental intoxication is produced, while a continued round of excitement becomes almost necessary to every day's existence. When the heavenly hand is seen and acknowledged in all, and a grateful spirit is vouchsafed, the heart yearns amid the beauties of nature to hold communion with God, and is ready to exclaim, "Then send me not back to the race of mankind, For where, in the crowds I have left, shall I find |