"Here let me, though fix'd in a desert, be free

A little one whom they despise,

;

Though lost to the world, yet in union with Thee,

Shall be holy, and happy, and wise."

The scene is truly lovely, and the air soft and mild as on a summer's evening. Yonder grazes a flock of sheep in the large, green field, and there sits the shepherd on the railing, in his round frock, with his crook in his hand, and his dog beside him, the fine turfy pasturage stretching far and wide.

While rambling amid these rural scenes, the sweet lines of Cowper appear to possess a double charm:

"Far from the world, O Lord, I flee,
From strife and tumult far;

From scenes where Satan wages still
His most successful war.

"The calm retreat, the silent shade,
With prayer and praise agree;
And seem by thy sweet bounty made
For those who follow thee.

"There, if thy Spirit touch the soul,
And grace her mean abode,

Oh, with what peace, and joy, and love,
She communes with her God!

"There, like the nightingale, she pours
Her solitary lays;

Nor asks a witness of her song,

Nor thirsts for human praise.

"Author and Guardian of my life,
Sweet source of light Divine,
And, all harmonious names in one,
My Saviour, thou art mine!

"What thanks I owe thee, and what love, A boundless, endless store,

Shall echo through the realms above
When time shall be no more."

LLANTONY ABBEY, IN SOUTH

WALES.

Now and then I love to go back to periods that are past; to live over again those seasons of interest and gratification which have flung a sunbeam in my path in days gone by. The more we remember what we have enjoyed, the louder is the call upon our thankfulness. Oh that my heart were filled with praise, and my mouth with thanksgiving!

There is another enjoyment, too, that I love to indulge; and that is, the recreation of sketching a character with my pen. Scores of such sketches I have by me, that no eyes but my own have ever seen. They will be found, perhaps, among a mass of unconnected manuscripts, when the mortal part of Old Humphrey is laid in the dust. It would have been a good thing for me through life, had I devoted half as much time to the correction of my own character, as I have spent in observation of the characters of

others; but this has not been the case, and the consequence is, a frequent exhibition on my part of those infirmities that I so quickly detect in my neighbours.

Think not, however, that I delight to banquet on the failings of my friends: this would be but an unlovely and unchristian employment. It is the oddity, the peculiarity, rather than the infirmity of human nature that I love to portray. A strong dash of shadow may, at times, mingle with my sketches; but if this be in the original, no marvel that it should appear in the copy. I will give you one of my sketches now.

I am about to describe a picture from the life. When we see a miser clutching his money bags, and looking around him suspiciously, we are certain of his selfishness; when a dealer in any article unduly praises what he would sell, we suspect him of the same evil; but, oftentimes, good and bad qualities are so blended, that to separate them is no easy task.

Many a wintry wind has blown over the Black Mountains, and many a fall of snow has fringed their rugged eminences, since I visited Llantony Abbey. It may be that the Abbey of Llantony is known to you; but, if not, it may be a treat to you, on some future day, to visit its time-worn and desolated walls.

In my time, I have been a capital pedestrian; twenty miles have I tramped before breakfast, and once I walked with a friend forty-seven miles on the last day of a lengthy excursion. Thus it is that old men prate about their past achievements! In some cases, even when leaning on a staff for support, and walking "softly," the breeze blowing about their thin grey locks, they dwell on the youth, the strength, and activity of their by-gone days. Bear with them!

It was at Christmas time that I set out, on foot, with two friends for Llantony Abbey. We had twenty-one miles of unknown ground to tramp over, at least unknown to me, and my friends had but a very general knowledge of it; a heavy fall of snow which had taken place added greatly to the fatigue of our journey; but we entered on our enterprise with light hearts and cheerful spirits. True it is, that our feet were sadly clogged with snow, so that we lifted up. our heavy heels like labouring men walking across a fresh-ploughed field; and then, again, the descending flakes, driven in myriads full in our faces, somewhat impeded our progress; to say nothing of the knee-deep snow-drifts we had to encounter in our occasional wanderings from the proper path; but these things are triAes, when buoyant hearts are filled with the